











x^''^^ 



\^^' 






.>' 



^«^ ■%. O'i 















^^ -^^ 



\^ 



■' % 



^ , X * v'\ 



,V c "^ ^ /> '^'^ 



^. "^..s^ ^0 



•>■ 



-0^ V 



^^^ v^^^ 



^^ \^ 



.^' ^c. 









V 






" T 



./> .< 



.x^' 



% 



A^ 



V>^ 



, ^^ -0 



^-^' 



C.J'. '^ ^ ^-. J * A- 



.<f.^' 




1 






sS^O^ 






. \' 











GRAY. 



iHerriirg euffligb Ce^tc 



AN ELEGY IN A 

COUNTRY CHURCHYARD 

AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 

THOMAS GRAY 

EDITED WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 
BY CORNELIA BEARE, INSTRUCTOR IN ENGLISH, 
ERASMUS HALL HIGH SCHOOL, NEW YORK CITY 




NEW YORK 

CHARLES E. MERRILL CO 

44-60 East Twenty-third Street 



Copyright, 1909 

BY 

CHARLES E. MERRILL CO. 



24B944 



CONTENTS 

Introduction : 

PAGE 

Life of Gray 5 

. Critical Opinions 8 

Poems : 

An Elegy in a Country Churchyard 9 

An Ode on the Pleasure Arising from Vicissitude 16 

An Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College 21 

The Bard — A Pindaric Ode 26 

Notes : 

An Elegy in a Country Churchyard 35 

An Ode on the Pleasure Arising from Vicissitude 45 

An Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College . . 47 

The Bard — A Pindaric Ode 52 



PUBLISHERS' NOTE 
JHerriirfiS (Enfflifiilb ^txta 

This series of books will include in complete editions 
those masterpieces of English Literature that are best adapted 
for the use of schools and colleges. The editors of the 
several volumes wiU be chosen for their special qualifications 
in connection with the texts to be issued under their indi- 
vidual supervision, but familiarity with the practical needs 
of the classroom, no less than sound scholarship, will char- 
acterize the editing of every book in the series. 

In connection with each text, a critical and historical 
introduction, including a sketch of the life of the author and 
his relation to the thought of his time, critical opinions of 
the work in question chosen from the great body of English 
criticism, and, where possible, a portrait of the author, will 
be given. Ample explanatory notes of such passages in the 
text as call for special attention will be supphed, but irrel- 
evant annotation and explanations of the obvious will be 
rigidly excluded. 

CHARLES E. MERRILL CO. 



INTRODUCTION 

LIFE OF GRAY 

The life of our poet is the common life of a poet and a 
scholar. There is Uttle to record in it except days of 
sensitive and studious retirement. 

Like many other eminent men, Thomas Gray was in- 
debted for his advancement to the early care and interest 
of his mother. His father, Philip Gray, was, like the 
father of Milton, an exchange broker, and a man of fierce 
and unrestrained temper. His wife was forced to leave 
him; but by her own exertions, and those of her sister, 
Thomas was sent to Eton School, where two of his uncles 
were under-masters. From Eton he went to Cambridge, 
and from thence he started on a tour throughout France 
and Italy, as companion to young Horace Walpole, the 
son of the then Prime Minister of England. The natures 
of the fellow-travelers were too unlike to allow them to 
continue long together, and they were soon obliged to 
part. Walpole confessed that the fault was his. "I 
had just broke loose from college,'' he writes, "with as 
much money as I could spend, and I was willing to in- 
dulge myself. Gray was for antiquities, whilst I was for 
perpetual balls and plays. The fault was mine." 

Gray returned to Pembroke College, Cambridge, where, 
with the exception of visits to Scotland, Cumberland, 
and Wales, he spent his whole life. He was offered the 
honorable distinction of Poet-Laureate, which, however, 
he declined. He was afterwards chosen Professor of 
Modern History at Cambridge. He wrote very few 

5 



6 INTRODUCTION 

poems, but those are o£ the most scholarly and refined 
character. The Elegy is that upon which his fame will 
chiefly rest. 

Three places claim the honor of being the scene of this 
beautiful poem, viz., Granchester and Madingley, near 
Cambridge — two lovely villages whose churchyards are 
within hearing of the curfew of St. Mary's Church — and 
Stoke, near Windsor, which is probably the locality the 
poet had in view^ In that churchyard he lies buried 
beside the beloved mother whose epitaph he wrote, as 
the only one of her children " who had had the misfortune 
to survive her." 

His chief poems are, On a Distant View of Eton College, 
The Bard, A Hymn to Adversity, Ode on the Pleasures 
arising from Vicissitude, and the far-famed Elegy. 

He was born December 26, 1716, and died July 24, 1771. 
and is said to be, after Milton, the most learned English 
poet. 

THOMAS GRAY 

From Matthew Arnold's *•' Essays in Criticism " 

''He was in his fifty-fifth year when he died, and he 
lived in ease and leisure, yet a few pages hold all his 
poetry; he never spoke out in poetry. Still, the reputa- 
tion which he has achieved by his few pages is extremely 
high. . . . 

"Seriousness, character was the foundation of things 
with him; where this was lacking he was always severe, 
whatever might be offered to him in its stead. Voltaire's 
literary genius charmed him, but the faults of Voltaire's 
nature he felt so strongly that when his young friend 
Nicholls was going abroad in 1771, just before Gray's 
death, he said to him : ' I have one thing to beg you which 
you must not refuse.' Nicholls answered: 'You know 
you have only to command ; what is it ? ' 'Do not go to 
see Voltaire,' said Gray, and then added: 'No one knows 



INTRODUCTION 7 

the mischief that man will do.' Nicholls promised com- 
pliance with Gray's injunction. 'But what/ he asked, 
'could a visit from me signify?' 'Every tribute to such 
a man signifies/ Gray answered. . . . 

" What gave the power to Gray's reclusion and ill- 
health to induce his sterility? The reason, the indubitable 
reason, as I cannot but think it, I have already given 
elsewhere. Gray, a born poet, fell upon an age of prose. 
He fell upon an age whose task was such as to call forth 
in general men's powers of understanding, wit, and 
cleverness, rather than their deepest powers of mind and 
soul. As regards literary production, the task of the 
eighteenth century in England was not the poetic inter- 
pretation of the world; its task was to create a plain, 
clear, straightforward, efficient prose. Poetry obeyed 
the bent of mind requisite for the due fulfilment of this 
task of the century. It was intellectual, argumentative, 
ingenious; not seeing things in their truth and beauty, 
not interpretative. Gray, with the qualities of mind and 
soul of a genuine poet, was isolated in his century. Main- 
taining and fortifying them by lofty studies, he yet could 
not fully educe and enjoy them; the want of a genial 
atmosphere, the failure of sympathy in his contem- 
poraries, were to(? great. . . . 

"Gray's production was scanty; and scanty, as we 
have seen, it could not but be. Even what he produced 
is not always pure in diction, true in evolution. Still, 
with whatever drawbacks, he is alone, or almost alone 
(for Collins has something of the like merit), in his age. 
Gray said himself that ' the style he aimed at was extreme 
conciseness of expression, yet pure, perspicuous, and 
musical.' Compared, not with the work of the great 
masters of the golden ages of poetry, but with the poetry 
of his own contemporaries in general, Gray's may be said 
to have reached, in style, the excellence at which he 
aimed." 



INTRODUCTION 



CRITICAL OPINIONS 



•^ ''Had Gray written nothing but his Elegy, high as he 
stands, I am not sure that he would not stand higher ; it 
is the cornerstone of his glory. . . . Gray's Elegy pleased 
instantly and eternally." — Lord Byron 
K "In the character of his Elegy I rejoice to concur with 
the common reader; for by the common-sense of readers, 
uncorrupted with literature prejudices, after all the 
refinements of subtility and the dogmatism of learning, 
must be finally decided all claim to poetical honors. 
The Churchyard abounds with images which find a mirror 
in every mind and with sentiments to which every bosom 
returns an echo. The four stanzas beginning 'yet even 
these bones' are to me original: I have never seen the 
notions in any other place; yet he that reads them here 
persuades himself that he has always felt them. Had 
Gray written often thus it would have been vain to blame 
and useless to praise him." — Johnson's "Life of Gray " 
"There is a charm in m^eter as there is in music; it is 
of the same kind, though the relation may be remote; 
and it differs less in degree, perhaps, than one who has 
not an ear for music can believe. ... Gray's Elegy owes 
much of its popularity to its strain of verse; the strain 
of thought alone, natural and touching as it is, would 
never have impressed it upon the hearts of thousands 
and tens of thousands unless the diction and meter in 
which it was embodied had been perfectly in unison with 
it. Beattie ascribed its general reception to both causes. 
Neither cause would have suflficed for producing so gen- 
eral and extensive and permanent an effect unless the 
poem had been, in the full import of the word, harmoni- 
ous." — Southey's "Life of Cowper" 



AN ELEGY 

IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD 

The curfew ^ tolls the knell of parting ^ day, 
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,^ 

The plowman homeward plods ^ his weary way 
And leaves the world ^ to darkness and to me. 

Now fades the glimmering landscape ^ on the sight, 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 

Save where the beetle wheels his droning ^ flight, 
And drowsy tinklings ^ lull the distant folds; 

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower 
The moping ^ owi does to the moon complain 

Of such as, wandering near her secret bower. 
Molest her ancient solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged ^^^ elms, that yew-tree's shade, 
Where heaves the turf ^^ o'er many a mold 'ring 
heap, 



10 .lA^ ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD 

Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 
The rude ^ forefathers of the hamlet ^ sleep. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,^ 

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, 

The cock's shrill clarion/ or the echoing horn/ 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn. 
Or busy housewife ply * her evening care ; ' 

No children run to lisp their sire's ® return. 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, ^ 

Their furrow ^^ oft the stubborn glebe " has broke ; 

How jocund ^^ did they drive their team a-field! ^^ 
How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy 
stroke ! 

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys and destiny ^^ obscure; ^^ 

Nor Grandeur ^® hear, with a disdainful smile, 
The short and simple annals ^^ of the pooi- * 

*A very popular little book, called Leigh Richmond's 
"Annals of the Poor," was published many years ago, and 
can still be had. 



AN ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD U 

The boast of heraldry/ the pomp of power, ^ 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 

Await alike the inevitable hour : — ^ 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault. 
If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 

Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted ^ 
vault. 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

Can storied urn ^ or animated ^ bust 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? 

Can Honor's voice provoke ' the silent dust. 

Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of Death ?^ 

Perhaps in this neglected spot ^ is laid 

Some heart once pregnant ^° with celestial fire; ^^ 
Hands that the rod of empire ^^ might have swayed, ^^ 

Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.^* 

But Knowledge to their ^'^ eyes her ample ^® page. 
Rich with the spoils of time,^^ did ne'er unroll: ^* 

Chill Penury repressed their noble rage,^^ 
And froze the genial current of their soul.^" 



12 AN ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD 

Full ^ many a gem of purest ray serene 
The dark unfathomed ^ caves of ocean bear; 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Some village^Hampden,^ who with dauntless breast 
The little tyrant of his fields withstood/ 

Some mute inglorious Milton,^ here may rest — 
Some Cromwell,^ guiltless of his country's blood. 

Th' applause of listening senates ^ to command, 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
And read their history in a nation's eyes, 

Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed ^ alone 

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; 

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; 

The struggling pangs of conscious truth ^ to hide, 
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, ^"^ 

Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride " 
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 



hmiAhhhii 



AN ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD 13 

Far from the madding ^ crowd's ignoble strife, 
Their sober wishes never learned to stray; 

Along the cool sequestered ^ vale of life 
They kept the noiseless tenor ^ of their way. 

Yet even these bones from insult to protect/ 
Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 

With uncouth ^ rhymes and shapeless sculpture 
decked. 
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

Their name,® their years, spelt by the unlettered 
Muse,^ 

The place of fame and elegy supply; 
And many a holy text around she strews. 

That teach the rustic moralist * to die. 

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,^ 
This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned, ^^ 

Left the warm precincts ^^ of the cheerful day, 
Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind? 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies. 
Some pious drops the closing eye requires; ^^ 



14 ^A^ ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD 

E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries; 
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. ^ 

For thee,^ who, mindful of th' unhonored dead, 
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, 

If chunce,^ by lonely Contemplation led. 
Some kindred spirit ^ shall inquire thy fate, 

Haply '" some hoary-headed swain ^ may say, 
^' Oft, have we seen him at the peep of dawn. 

Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, 
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 

'' There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, 
That wreathes its old fantastic ^ roots so high. 

His listless ^ length at noontide would he stretch. 
And pore ^ upon the brook that babbles by. 

" Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, ^'^ 
Mutt'ring his wayward fancies " he would 
rove; 
Now drooping, woful, wan,^^ like one forlorn, ^^ 
Or ^^ crazed with care, or crossed ^^ in hopeless 
love. 



m 



AN ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD 15 

^'One morn I missed hftn from the customed hill, 
Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree. 

Another came; ^ nor yet beside the rill. 
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he. 

''The next,2 with dirges ^ due, in sad array. 

Slow through the churchway path we saw him 
borne, — 

Approach and read, for thou canst read, the lay ^ 
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn. 

''There scattered oft, the earliest^ of the year. 
By hands unseen are showers of violets found; 

The redbreast loves to build and warble there. 
And little footsteps lightly print the ground.'' 

The Epitaph^ 

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth, "^ 
A youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown: 

Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, 
And Melancholy marked him for her own. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ; 
Heaven did a recompense as largely send : ^ 



16 ^A^ ODE ON THE 

He gave to Misery (all he had) a tear, 

He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wished) a 
friend. 

No further seek his merits to disclose, 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, ^ 

(There they alike ^ in trembling hope repose,) 
The bosom of his Father and his God. 



AN ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING 
FROM VICISSITUDE 



ARGUMENT 



The changes and chances of life afford pleasure as well as 
trial. The pleasures are here put in prominence. 



Now the golden Morn ^ aloft 

Waves her dew-bespangled wing, 
With vermeil cheek and whisper soft 

She woos the tardy spring; 
Till April starts, and calls around 
The sleeping fragrance from the ground ; 
And lightly o'er the living scene 
Scatters his freshest, tenderest green. 



PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE 17 

New-born flocks/ in rustic dance, 

Frisking ply their feeble feet; 
Forgetful of their wintry trance 

The birds his presence greet : 
But chief, the sky -lark warbles high 
His trembling, thrilling ecstasy; 
And, lessening from the dazzled sight, 
Melts into air, and liquid light. 

Rise, my soul! ^ on wings of fire 

Rise the rap'trous choir among; 
Hark! 'tis Nature strikes the lyre 

And leads the gen'ral song: 
[Warm let the lyric transport flow. 
Warm as the ray that bids it glow 
And animates the vernal grove 
With health, with harmony and love.] 

Yesterday ^ the sullen year 

Saw the snow}'- whirlwind fly; 
Mute was the music of the air. 

The herd stood drooping by: 
Their raptures now that wildly flow, 
No yesterday, nor morrow know; 



18 AN ODE ON THE 

'Tis man alone that joy descries 
With forward and reverted eyes. 

Smiles ^ on past Misfortune's brow 
Soft Reflection's hand can trace ; 
And o'er the cheek of Sorrow throw 

A melancholy grace ; 
While Hope prolongs our happier hour, 
Or deepest shades, that dimly lower 
And blacken round our weary way, 
Gilds with a gleam of distant day. 

Still, where rosy Pleasure ^ leads. 

See a kindred grief pursue; 
Behind the steps that Misery treads 

Approaching Comfort view: 
The hues of bliss more brightly glow 
Chastised by sabler tints of woe; 
And blended ^ form,'* with artful strife, 
The strength and harmony of life. 

See the wretch ^ that long has tost 

On the thorny bed of pain, 
At length repair his vigor lost, 

And breathe, and walk again: 



PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE 19 

The meanest flow'ret of the vale, 
The simplest note that swells the gale, 
The common sun, the air, the skies, 
To him are opening Paradise. 

Humble Quiet ^ builds her cell 

Near the source whence Pleasure flows; 
She eyes the clear crystalline well. 

And tastes it as it goes. 
[While far below, the madding crowd 
Rush headlong to the dangerous flood,] 
Where broad and turbulent it sweeps, 
And perish in the boundless deeps. 

Mark where Indolence and Pride,^ 

[Soothed by Flattery's tinkling sound,] 

Go softly rolling, side by side. 
Their dull, but daily, round : 

[To these, if Hebe's ^ self should bring 

The purest cup from Pleasure's spring, 

Say, can they taste the flavor high 

Of sober, simple, genuine Joy? 

Mark Ambition's ^ march sublime 
Up to Power's meridian height; 



20 PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE 

While pale-eyed Envy sees him climb 

And sickens at the sight. 
Phantoms of Danger, Death, and Dread 
Float hourly round Ambition's head ; 
While Spleen, within his rival's breast, 
Sits brooding on her scorpion nest. 

Happier he, the peasant, far, 

From the pangs of passion free, 
That breathes the keen yet wholesome air 

Of rugged penury. 
He, when his morning task is done. 
Can slumber in the noontide sun; 
And hie him home at evening's close 
To sweet repast, and calm repose. 

He unconscious whence * the bliss, 

Feels, and owns in carols rude, 
That all the circling joys are his, 

Of dear Vicissitude,^ 
From toil he wins his spirits light, 
From busy day the peaceful night, 
Rich, from the very want of wealth, 
In Heaven's best treasures, Peace and Health.] 



DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE 21 

AN ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF 
ETON COLLEGE 

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, 

That crown the watery glade/ 

Where grateful Science still adores 

Her Henry's holy shade; ^ 

And ye, that from the stately brow ^ 

Of Windsor's heights the expanse below 

Of grove, of lawn, of mead ^ survey. 

Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among 

Wanders the hoary ^ Thames along 

His silver-winding way. 

Ah happy hills, ah pleasing shade, 
Ah fields beloved in vain,*^ 
Where once my careless childhood strayed, 
A stranger yet ^ to pain ! 
I feel the gales that from ye blow, 
A momentary bliss bestow, 
As waving fresh ^ their gladsome ^ wing, 
My weary soul they seem to soothe, 
And, redolent ^^ of joy and youth. 
To breathe a second spring. ^^ 



22 ^A^ ODE ON A 

Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen 
Full many a sprightly * race 
Disporting ^ on thy margent ^ green 
The paths of pleasure trace, 
Wlio foremost now delight to cleave 
With pliant * arm thy glassy wave? 
The captive linnet which inthrall?^ 
What idle progeny succeed 
To chase the rolling circle's speed," 
Or urge the flying ball? ^ 

While some, on earnest business bent. 
Their murmuring labors ^ ply 
'Gainst ^ graver hours, that bring constraint 
To sweeten liberty: 
Some bold adventurers disdain 
The limits of their little reign, 
And unknown regions dare descry: ^^ 
Still as they run they look behind. 
They hear a voice in every wind. 
They snatch a fearful joy." 

Gay Hope is theirs by Fancy fed, 
Less pleasing when possest; 



DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE 23 

The tear forgot as soon as shed, 
The sunshine of the breast: 
Then-'s buxom ^ health of rosy hue, 
Wild wit, invention ever-new, 
And lively cheer of vigor born; 
The thoughtless day, the easy night. 
The spirits pure, the slumbers light,^ 
That fly the approach of morn. 

Alas! regardless of their doom. 
The Uttle victims play! 
No sense have they of ills to come, 
Nor care beyond to-day : 
Yet see how all around 'em wait 
The ministers of human fate, 
And black Misfortune's baleful ^ train! 
Ah, show them where in ambush ^ stand 
To seize their prey the murderous band! 
Ah, tell them they are men! 

These shall the fury Passions ^ tear, 
The vultures of the mind, 
Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, 
And Shame that skulks^ behind; 



24 AN ODE ON A 

Or pining Love shall waste their youth, 
Or Jealousy ^ with rankling tooth, 
That inly gnaws the secret heart. 
And Envy wan,^ and faded Care, 
Grim-visaged comfortless Despair,^ 
And Sorrow's piercing dart. 

Ambition this shall tempt to rise. 
Then whirl the wi-etch ^ from high. 
To bitter Scorn a sacrifice, 
And grinning Infamy. 
The stings of Falsehood those shall try, 
And hard Unkindness' altered eye. 
That mocks the tear it forced to flow ; 
And keen Remorse with blood defiled. 
And moody Madness ^ laughing wild 
Amid severest woe. 

Lo ! in the vale of years ^ beneath 
A grisly ^ troop are seen. 
The painful family of Death,* 
More hideous than their Queen : ^ 
This racks ^^ the joints, this fires the veins. 
That every laboring sinew strains. 



DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE 25 

Those in the deeper vitals rage ; 
Lo! Poverty, to fill the band, 
That numbs the soul with icy hand. 
And slow-consuming Age. 

To each his sufferings: all are men 
Condemned alike to groan; 
The tender for another's pain, 
Th' unfeeling for his own. 
Yet, ah ! ^ why should they know their fate, 
Since sorrow never comes too late, 
And happiness too swiftly flies? 
Thought would destroy their paradise. 
No more ; — where ignorance is bliss,^ 
'Tis folly to be wise. 



26 THE BARD — A PINDARIC ODE 

THE BARD 

"This ode is founded on a tradition current in Wales 
that Edward the First, when he completed the conquest 
of that country, ordered all the bards that fell into his 
hands to be put to death." — Gray 

In his common-place book, Gray gave the argument 
of the ode, as follows: "The army of Edward L, as they 
march through a deep valley, and approach Mount 
Snowdon, are suddenly stopped by the appearance of 'a 
venerable figure seated on the summit of an inaccessible 
rock, who, with a voice more than human, reproaches 
the king with all the desolation and misery which he had 
brought on his country; foretells the misfortunes of the 
Norman race, and with his prophetic spirit declares that 
all his cruelty shall never extinguish the noble ardor of 
poetic genius in this island; and that men shall never be 
wanting to celebrate true virtue and valor in immortal 
strains, to expose vice and infamous pleasure, and boldly 
censure tyranny and oppression. His song ended, he 
precipitates himself from the mountain, and is swallowed 
up by the river that rolls at its feet." 

Hales remarks :" It is perhaps scarcely now necessary 
to say that the tradition on which The Bard is founded is 
wholly groundless. Edward I. never did massacre Welsh 
bards. Their name is legion in the beginning of the 
Fourteenth Century. Miss Williams, the latest historian 
of Wales, does not even mention the old story." 



A PINDARIC ODE 

I 1 
''Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! * 
Confusion on thy banners wait ; 



THE BARD — A PINDARIC ODE 27 

Tho' fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing, 

They mock the air ^ with idle state. 
Hehn, nor hauberk's ^ twisted mail, 
Nor e'en thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail 
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears. 
From Cambria's^ curse, from Cambria's tears!" 

Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride 
Of the first Edward scatter 'd wild dismay. 

As down the steep of Snowdon's ^ shaggy ^ side 
He wound with toilsome march his long array. 
Stout Gloster ^ stood aghast in speechless trance : 
''To arms!" cried Mortimer,"^ and couch'd his quiv- 
ering lance. 

I 2 

On a rock whose haughty brow 
Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, 

Rob'd in the sable garb of woe, 
With haggard eyes the poet stood 
(Loose his beard, ^ and hoary hair 
Stream'd, like a meteor,^ to the troubled air). 
And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire, 
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre. 
''Hark, how each giant oak, and desert cave, 



28 THE BARD — A PINDARIC ODE 

Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath ! 
O'er thee, King! their hundred arms they wave, 

Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe ; 
Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, 
To high-born Hoel's ^ harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. 

I 3 

''Cold is Cadwallo's^ tongue, 

That hush'd the stormy main ; 
Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed ; 

Mountains, ye mourn in vain 

Modred, whose magic song 
Made huge Plinlimmon ^ bow his cloud-topt head. 

On dreary Arvon's shore ^ they lie, 
Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale; 
Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail; 

The famish 'd eagle ^ screams, and passes by. 
Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, 

Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes. 
Dear as the ruddy drops ^ that warm my heart. 

Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — 
No more I weep. They do not sleep. 

On yonder cliffs, a grisly ^ band, 
I see them sit, they linger yet. 



THE BARD — A PINDARIC ODE 29 

Avengers of their native land: 
With me in dreadful harmony they join, 
And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy 
line. 

II 1 

''Weave the warp, and weave the woof, 

The winding-sheet of Edward's race. 
Give ample room, and verge ^ enough 

The characters of hell to trace. 
Mark the year, and mark the night, 
When Severn shall reecho with affright 
The shrieks of death thro' Berkeley's roofs ^ that 

ring. 
Shrieks of an agonizing king! 

She-wolf of France,^ with unrelenting fangs, 
That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate, 

From thee be born, who o'er thy country 
hangs 
The scourge of heaven. What terrors ^ round him 

wait! 
Amazement in his van, with Flight combin'd. 
And Sorrow's faded form, and Sohtude behind. 



30 THE BARD — A PINDARIC ODE 

II 2 

"Mighty victor, mighty lord! 
Low on his funeral couch ^ he lies! 

No pitying heart, no eye, afford 
A tear to grace his obsequies. 
Is the sable warrior fled ? ^ 
Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead. 
The swarm that in thy noontide beam were born? 
Gone to salute the rising morn.^ 
Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, 

WTiile proudly riding o'er the azure realm ^ 
In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes ; ^ 

Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm;^ 
Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, 
That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening 
prey. 

II 3 

"Fill high the sparkling bowl, 

The rich repast prepare; 
Reft of a crown,' he yet may share the feast: 

Close by the regal chair 

Fell Thirst and Famine ^ scowl 
A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. 



THE BARD — A PINDARIC ODE 31 

Heard ye the din of battle bray, 
Lance to lance, and horse to horse? ^ 
Long years of havoc urge their destined course, 

And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their way.^ 
Ye towers of Julius,^ London's lasting shame, 

With many a foul and midnight murther ^ fed, 
Revere his consort's ^ faith, his father's fame,^ 

And spare the meek usurper's ^ holy head. 
Above, below, the rose of snow, 

Twin'd with her blushing foe,^ we spread: 
The bristled boar ^ in infant gore ^" 

Wallows beneath the thorny shade. 
Now, brothers, bending o'er the accursed loom, 
Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. 

Ill 1 

''Edward, lo! to sudden fate 

(Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) 
Half of thy heart " we consecrate. 

(The web is wove. The work is done.) 
Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn 
Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn: 
In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, 
They melt, they vanish from my eyes. 



32 THE BARD — A PINDARIC ODE 

But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's 
height 
Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll? 

Visions of glory, spare my aching sight ! 
Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul ! 
No more our long-lost Arthur ^ we bewail. 
All hail, ye genuine kings,^ Britannia's issue, hail! 

Ill 2 

^'Girt with many a baron bold ^ 
Sublime their starry fronts they rear; 

And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old 
In bearded majesty, appear. 
In the midst a form divine ! ^ 
Her eye proclaims her of the Briton line; 
Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face, 
Attemper 'd sweet to virgin-grace. 
What strings symphonious tremble in the air, 

What strains of vocal transport round her play! 
Hear from the grave, great Taliessin,^ hear; 

They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. 
Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as she sings. 
Waves in the eye of heaven her many-color'd 
wings. 



THE BARD — A PINDARIC ODE 33 

III 3 

''The verse adorn again 

Fierce War, and faithful Love.^ 
And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest. 

In buskin 'd measures move ^ 

Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, 
With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. 

A voice,^ as of the cherub-choir, 
Gales from blooming Eden bear; 
And distant warblings ^ lessen on my ear. 

That lost in long futurity expire. 
Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine 
cloud 

Rais'd by thy breath, has quench 'd the orb of 
day? 
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, 

And warms the nations with redoubled ray. 
Enough for me; with joy I see 

The different doom our fates assign. 
Be thine despair, and sceptred care; 

To triumph, and to die, are mine." 
He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height 
Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endless night. 



NOTES 



AN ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD 

9, 1. Curfew: A bell rung in England during Norman 
times, at eight o'clock in the evening, to warn the people to 
put out fires and lights, and go to bed. It was supposed to 
have been first used at Carfax Church, in Oxford, by order 
of King Alfred the Great. It need not necessarily be con- 
sidered as a hard law upon the conquered Saxons alone, as 
it bore equally heavy upon the Norman nobles. Perhaps 
it was intended as a precaution against the accidents of fire; 
many of the poorer houses at this time being made of wood. 
In 1087 there was a very great fire in London, and St. Paul's 
was burnt. 

2. Parting: Departing. This poem is therefore supposed 
to be written in the evening, when the labor of the day is 
over. 

3. Lea: Grass-land; meadow that lies un tilled. 

4. Plods: Moves onward slowly, as if tired. 

5. The world: The whole scene before me. 

6. Landscape: The form or shape of a portion of land as 
it appears to the eye. 

7. Droning: Giving a dull, buzzing sound. 

8. And drowsy tinklings, etc.: This line may be explained 
thus: " The bell that is tied round the neck of one of the 
sheep in a flock — called the ' bell-wether ' that by its sound the 
flock may be kept together, gets gradually silent as the wearer 
begins to drop off to sleep." 

9. Moping: Dull, gloomy; Hke one stupid or bewitched 
35 



36 NOTES 

{owl-like). The moon is always supposed, in poetry, to be 
the owl's midnight companion. 

10. Rugged: Rough; of unequal surface. Literally (from 
the Latin) wrinkled. 

11. Where heaves the turf, etc.: "Where the mounds of 
turf show that there the decaying bodies of the buried lie." 

10, 1. Rude: Rough, unpolished, country-bred. With- 
out any bad sense. 

2. Hamlet: A little home, a village, a cluster of houses. 
In the same way we have circlet, a little circle; brooklet, a 
little brook or stream. 

3. Incense-breathing morn: " The fresh perfumed breezes 
of the morning air awaking them." 

4. Clarion: A narrow-tubed, shrill-sounding trumpet. 

5. Echoing horn: The horn of the hunter in the early 
morning sport. (Our hunters do not start so early 'as those 
appeared to do.) There are many allusions in the poets to 
these two morning sounds, e.g., 

" While the cock with lively din 
Scatters the rear of darkness thin, 

Oft listening how the hounds and horn 
Cheerily rouse the slumbering morn. 
From the side of some hoar hill. 
Thro' the high wood echoing shrill." 

— Milton, L' Allegro 
Also — 

" Thro' the dell his horn resounds. 
Round and round the sounds were cast. 
Till echo seemed an answering blast." 

— ScoTT,'Lady of the Lake 

6. Ply: To be busy with. An old poet uses the word in 
this sense: 

'* They ply their feet, and still the restless ball, 
Tost to and fro, is urged by them all." 



NOTES 37 

7. Her evening care: Her household arrangements, in 
order to be ready to receive her husband on his return from 
his daily labor. 

8. Sire: Connected with the e very-day word, sir. Derived 
from the French, and meaning master, and hence father. 

9. Oft did . . . to their sickle yield: "Many a year had 
they reaped the ripe grain." 

10. Furrow: A trench or cut made in the earth by the 
plow share. 

11. Glebe: The hard surface of the soil. Glebe-land is a 
meadow or other land belonging to a parsonage. 

12. Jocund: An adjective, here used as an adverb. Pleas- 
antly, blithely, cheerily; from the Latin word for joke or 
jest. 

13. A-field: Towards the field. Compare aback, aside, 
etc. 

14. Destiny: That state of life to which God hath called 
us. 

15. Let not . . . obscure: i.e., " Let not those who wish to 
rise to great places in the world despise those who have not 
the same desire, but are content with the simple happiness of 
a quiet life." 

16. Nor grandeur, etc: "Neither let grand people smile 
with contempt when stories are told of the sufferings or joys 
of the poor." 

17. Annals: A story of a life or of a period; strictly speak- 
ing, where every event is narrated in the year in which it 
happened. 

11, 1. Heraldry: The art of drawing, or, as it is called, 
emblazoning coats of arms which we see on the panels of 
carriages or elsewhere. When any man did some great thing, 
or was allowed certain privileges, he got a herald to emblazon 
him a coat of arms in some way connected with his life, or 
deeds, or position, and this he was authorized to use. And 
when he married a wife who had a coat of arms, they were 
joined together, or " quartered," as it is called; so that two 



3S NOTES 

illustrious people coming together had a-^rander coat of 
arms, and could " boast " more of their " heraldry." 

2. Pomp of power: Display and magnificence of the 
rich. 

3.: — By this mark the poet sums up all: "However 
glorious life may be to many men, they and the poor must 
both die. Death makes them at last equal." 

4. Fret, in architecture, is an ornament consisting of 
threads or lines crossing one another at right angles. Fretted 
vault is a vault thus ornamented. 

5. Storied urn: Urn is a vessel wider at the middle than at 
the mouth. It was used for water, and to hold the ashes of 
the dead in the days and countries when dead bodies were 
burned instead of being buried. A storied urn would there- 
fore mean such a receptacle inscribed with the story of the 
dead person's life and good deeds. 

6. Animated: Life-hke. 

7. Provoke: Call forth; used in a good sense. 

8. Can honor's voice . . . Death ? These two lines may 
be expressed thus: " Can the voice which calls to honor and 
renown summon to its service those who are silent in the 
grave? Can the words of flattery please and soothe those 
whose ears are now cold and deaf in death? " 

9. Neglected spot: This quiet, unfrequented churchyard. 

10. Pregnant: Full of, and longing to impart it, to be free 
from it. 

11. Celestial fire: The divine spirit of poetry, which was 
supposed to be a gift from Heaven. So the poet Milton 
submits himself to the influence of this power when he calls 
upon it to sing for him at the beginning of his great poem. 
Sinking himself, he says: 

" Sing, heavenly Muse, that on the secret top 
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire 
That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed, 
In the beginning how the heavens and earth 
Rose out of Chaos." 



NOTES 39 

12. Rod of empire: The king's scepter. The scepter was 
originally a rod or staff upon which any one could lean; thence 
it became the staff or rod which kings bore as the symbol of 
power and sovereignty. 

13. Sway: To turn to one side or the other, to give a pre- 
ponderance of influence to any one person. To " sway the 
rod of empire," therefore, may be used of any one who has 
power to govern as he will by waving the scepter. 

14. L5n:e: A kind of harp much used by the ancients to 
accompany the singing or recitation of poetry. " The living 
lyre " — one whose tones seemed to be those of living voices. 

15. Their: The antecedent to the word is to be found as 
far back as line 2, page 10, viz., in the words " rude fore- 
fathers." 

16. Ample: Large, wide, full, copious. 

17. Rich with the spoils of time: Enriched by the ideas, 
thoughts, and suggestions of scholars of all times. Spoils 
— things stripped from an enemy ; here used in a friendly 
sense. 

18. UmroU: Ancient books were written, not on pages 
made to " turn over " like ours, but on long pieces of paper 
or parchment, which were rolled on two rollers, and as the 
pages were read, the left hand roller shut the page to the 
left by being moved over it, while the other roller, being 
moved to the right, opened up the next page. 

19. Rage: This word is used commonly for anger, passion, 
etc. ; but it has a higher meaning in the sense of enthusiasm 
(i.e., an ardor of mind directed to some object), great eager- 
ness directed to the attainment of some end. 

20. Current of their soul: The temper and disposition 
natural to them. 

12, 1. Full: Quite, very many. 

2. Unfathomed: Unsounded, the deep bed of ocean which 
has never been measured. This stanza is one of the most 
popular and most frequently quoted in the English language. 

3. Hampden (John), lived in the reign of Charles I; was 



40 NOTES 

cousin to Oliver Cromwell, and sat in the Long Parliament 
for Buckinghamshire. On the breaking out of the war he 
became a colonel, and was mortally wounded in a skirmish 
at Chalgrove, near Oxford, June 18, 1643. He died six 
days after. He and several others withstood a tax, called 
the " tax of ship money," which the king levied, and were 
brought to law. 

4. The little, etc.: i.e., " The humble man who lay buried 
here, might have been of as bold a spirit as Hampden, and 
might, in his small way, have withstood oppression as fear- 
lessly as he did." 

5. Mute inglorious Milton; i.e., " some one who possessed 
the poetic power of Milton, but was obliged from his circum- 
stances to go down to his grave silent and without fame." 

6. Some Cromwell: Some one who, with all Cromwell's 
power and desire to stir up a civil war, from his humlile posi- 
tion had no opportunity of doing so; and so died innocent 
of public crime. 

7. Senate; From the Latin word signifying an old man. 
Hence denoting an assembly of elders, whose age is supposed 
to give wisdom to their counsels. It is hence used to mean 
any administrative assembly, such as the Houses of Par- 
liament. 

8. Circumscribe: To draw lines round anything, to limit, 
to confine. Paraphrase: They had not only the misfortune 
of being unknown for their virtues; but they were fortunate 
enough to have no opportunity of giving way to the evil 
part of their nature. They had no chance of rising to power 
through violent and pitiless treatment of their fellow-men 
at the sacrifice of truth, and saying and doing (to flatter and 
deceive) that which they knew to be wrong. 

9. Conscious truth: What they knew — in spite of what 
they said — to be true. 

10. Ingenuous shame: Frank, candid shame, which caused 
them to blush for what they were obliged to hide. 

11. Luxury and Pride: i.e., the luxurious and proud, who 



NOTES 41 

expected to be fed with flattery by poets and those who 
would sell their genius to so unworthy a purpose. 

13, 1. Madding: Maddening, violent, disturbing, distract- 
ing. The same thought is beautifully expressed by an old 
poet: 

" What sweet delight a quiet life affords, 
And what it is to be from bondage free! 
Far from the madding worlding's hoarse discords, 
Sweet flowery place, I first did learn of thee." 

2. Sequestered: Separate, set apart, lonely, private, se- 
cluded. 

3. Tenor (from the Latin word signifying "to hold"): 
The holding on, the continued course. Dryden, the poet, has 
some lines which may explain this phrase : 

" All of a tenor was their after life. 
No day discolored with domestic strife, 
No jealousy, but mutual truth believed. 
Secure repose, and kindness undeceived." 

4. These bones, etc.: "The bones of the very humblest 
have some memorial to mark their resting-place, and keep 
the feet of the crowds that pass by from walking over their 
graves ; and although it may display awkward and ungraceful 
inscriptions and rude ornaments, still it serves to draw a sigh 
of regret from those who read the names of the dead." 

5. Uncouth: Unknown, strange, foreign to our customs, 
therefore awkward, boorish. 

6. Their names: Whose names? See the fourth stanza. 

7. Unlettered Muse: Some untaught and unlearned author 
who composed a tombstone inscription more from the warm 
feelings of his heart than from the talent of his head. 

There were nine goddesses, or muses, in ancient times 
who were supposed to preside over music, poetry, painting, 
rhetoric, astronomy, etc. The one mentioned here was the 
goddess of poetry. 



42 NOTES 

Milton in his poem of Lycidas has a passage Uke this: 

" So may some gentle Muse 
With kicky words favor my destined urn! " 

8. Moralist: One who tries to learn and fix a lesson from 
the events and trials of life. 

9. Prey: (1) Property seized in war; (2) anything carried 
off to be devoured. A man is said to be a prey to his own 
thoughts when he is eaten up or constantly occupied by 
them. 

10. E'er resigned: " Give up a life full of pleasure as well 
as anxieties." 

11. Precinct: An enclosed space, anything girt about. The 
houses of the Canons of Canterbury Cathedral, enclosed by 
the walls, are called " The Precincts." 

12. The closing eye requires: " It is sweet to the dying to 
lean, in their weakness, on the breast of one whom they have 
loved and trusted in life; and to see the tears of weeping 
friends around their bed." 

14, 1. Live their wonted fires: An old poet has the same 
thought : 

" My very ashes in their urn 
Shall, like a hollowed lamp, forever bum." 

2. Thee: The poet himself, who was here recalling the 
virtues of those who had lived and died obscurely. 

3. Chance: Perchance, by chance. 

4. Kindred spirit: Some one of the same habits of thought- 
ful and solitary meditation. 

5. Haply: By accident, perhaps. From hap, signifying 
chance or lot ; not necessarily bad chance or bad luck. From 
this word we have happy, happen, hap-hazard. In Ruth III, 
3, the word occurs: " And she went, and came, and 
gleaned in the field after the reapers; and her hap was to 
light on a part of the field belonging unto Boaz." Here 
certainly the word is used for good luck. 



NOTES 43 

6. Swain: A Saxon word meaning a servant, more espe- 
cially a herdsman ; hence it is used for a peasant of any kind. 

7. Fantastic: (1) Fanciful, not real; (2) whimsical, odd. 
Here referring to the odd way in which the roots spread 
themselves. 

8. Listless: Heedless, indifferent, without desire. From 
the word lust, which was not originally used in a bad sense, 
but meant simply choice or desire. The old poet Chaucer 
makes one of his characters say, in beginning to tell a story: 

" And then our host began his horse arrest (stop), 
And said, Lords, hearken, if you list." 

Shakespeare in one of his plays, As You Like It, II, 1, draws 
a picture of a meditative character like this, and described 
him in words almost similar: 

" He lay along 
Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out 
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood." 

9. Pore: To look with steady gaze. Students are said to 
pore over their books. 

10. Smiling as in scorn: i.e., like one who lived alone, and 
had begun not to think the best of the world and his fellow 
men ; a misanthrope. 

11. Wa3rward fancies: The termination ward is the imper- 
ative of an Anglo-Saxon verb signifying to look at, to direct 
the view to. Hence wayward will mean looking direct to his 
own way, i.e., froward, peevish, preverse. See line 3. 

12. Wan (the past participle of the old verb to wane, to 
diminish, to fall away): Faint, languid, tired. We speak of 
the "wane of the moon," the waning influence of a states- 
man or of a friendship. Dryden makes one of his characters 
say: — 

" I am waning in his favor, yet I love him." 

13. Forlorn: Utterly lost or forsaken. Lorn is the past 
participle of the old verbs. Dickens makes one of his most 



44 NOTES 

natural characters excuse herself for her constant peevish- 
ness by saying that she is a " poor lone, lorn creature." 

14. Or . . . or; A poetical expression for either . . . or. 

15. Crossed: Thwarted, opposed. Locke, a philosophical 
writer, says, " To make a good and virtuous man, it is neces- 
sary that he should cross his appetites." 

15, 1. Another came: i.e., another morning. 

2. Next: i.e., next morning. • 

3. Dirge: A funeral service in Latin, beginning with 
" Dirige, Domine, nos," "Direct, or guide us, O Lord!" 
Dirges due will mean all the proper and solemn arrangments 
of a funeral. 

4. Lay: The inscription. The word was used for a kind 
of narrative poem sung by the old minstrels, e.g., Sir W. 
Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel. 

5. The earliest: i.e., the earhest violets. 

6. Epitaph (from the Greek words signifying upon and a 
tomb): That which is written upon a tombstone to the mem- 
ory of the dead. Dr. Johnson says, " To define an epitaph 
is useless; every one knows it is an inscription on a tomb. 
An epitaph is indeed commonly panegyrical [i.e., containing 
a praise], because we are seldom distinguished by a stone 
but by our friends." 

7. Lap of earth: To rest, like a child, on its mother's lap. 
Milton speaks of a weary traveler longing for a place to rest 
in his journey: 

" How he would gladly lay him down. 
As in his mother's lap." 

8. Heaven did . . . send: '' Heaven was as kind to him as 
he to others. He had all he wanted, and gave all he could 
give." 

16, 1. Dread abode: The grave, or forgetf illness. 
2. They alike: i.e., his merits and his frailties. 



NOTES 45 

AN ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM 
VICISSITUDE 

16, 3. Now the golden mom . . . tenderest green: The 

goddess of the morning, Aurora, rises over the horizon, with 
blushing beauty, and persuades the tardy Spring to burst 
forth in all its natural beauty. 

17, 1. New-born flocks . . . liquid light: The young 
lambs, gamboling about the fields, try their newly-found 
powers of motion ; the birds, roused from their wintry torpor 
and silence, answer joyfully to the call of April to resume 
their cheerful songs; especially the sky-lark, who, singing, 
soars aloft, until he is lost to men's eyes and ears in the dis- 
tance of the blue sky. 

2. Rise, my soul! . . . love : Let me, like all nature, awake, 
and join my voice and song to the thousand notes of harmony 
and love to the Creator which the appearance of spring calls 
forth. 

3. Yesterday . . . reverted eyes: But the other day, the 
snow fell thick and fast over the dark and dismal landscape; 
there was no sound of life or joyousness; the sheep and 
cattle stood cold and drooping. To-day they enjoy the pres- 
ent, unmindful of past discomfort, and heedless of what the 
future may bring. Man alone can look back with regret 
to past, or forward with anticipation to future, happiness. 

i8, 1. Smiles . . . distant day. When we calmly think 
of past misfortunes, we discover that, after all, they con- 
tained ma^y pleasures; and that our sorrows were not all 
melancholy. On the other hand, if we are not happy now, 
Hope leads us on to look for better days, and however black 
and desponding our present life may appear, it shows us a 
brighter although a distant future. 

2. Still where rosy pleasure . . . life: Pleasure is always 
followed by a grief in some way connected with it; and, on 
the other hand, trial and unhappiness is never unattended 
by some comfort and consolation. Our happiness is all the 
brighter for being tinged with a darker shade of sorrow, and 



46 NOTES 

they two taken together, and skilfully counteracting each 
other, form a strong and harmonious character. 

3. Blended: Joined harmoniously together. 

4. Form: 3rd pers. pi. present agreeing -with. " hues of 
bhss." 

5. See the wretch . . . Paradise: See the unhappy man, 
who has long lain on the uneasy bed of pain and sickness! 
What a change comes over him when he regains health and 
strength! The little flowers, the notes of the birds, the sun 
that shines on him and thousands besides him, the fresh air, 
the bright sky, all speak of a new and higher state of exist- 
ence. 

"Wretch" is any one in great misery and unhappiness; 
not necessarily bearing a bad meaning. 

19, 1. Hximble quiet . . . boundless deeps : Quiet is not 
afraid to live close to the source from which Pleasure springs, 
and fears not to look at and taste its clear crystal waters, 
as they first bubble forth ; but those who rush in excitement 
to drink of it in excess when it has become a strong and tur- 
bulent stream are carried by it to ruin. 

2. Mark where . . . genuine Joy: Indolence and Pride, 
living in a dull artificial atmosphere of their own, fed and 
soothed by Flattery and Fawning, cannot understand the 
joys, however great, of those who live true, simple, and 
sober lives. 

3. Hebe: The goddess of youth, and cup-bearer to the gods 
of the ancients. 

4. Mark Ambition's . . . nest: See how miserable the 
ambitious man is, in the midst of grand and successful aspira- 
tions while those who envy, but cannot attain his success 
grow sick with jealousy and rage. The one, risking so much, 
is beset with constant fears of danger and death; the other, 
unable to follow him, is tormented and stung by envy and 
vexation, and broods over his fancied ill-fortune. 

20, 1. He unconscious whence . . . and Health: He, al- 
though unconscious of the cause, cheerfully feels and owns 



NOTES 47 

that the appointed changes of hfe, as they come round, 
bring him joy and happiness. Labor brings hghtness of 
heart, an active day brings a peaceful and a sleepful night, 
and he is rich in the treasures which do not generally ac- 
company worldly wealth — a tranquil mind and a healthy 
body. 

2. Vicissitude: State clearly, in your own words, what 
you mean by this word; and describe what you understand 
to be the scope or object of this poem. 

ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON 
COLLEGE 

21, 1. That crown the watery glade: Cf. The Progress of 
Poetry, II, 3. 

" Isles that crowTi the ocean deep." 

2. Her Henry's holy shade: Eton College was founded by 
Henry VI, a.d., 1441. The epithet alludes to the religious 
character of the king. Cf . The Bard, II, 3, " The meek usurper's 
holy head." Wordsworth also, in his Ode on King's College, 
Cambridge, calls him the " royal saint." 

3. The stately brow: Cf. Thomson's Summer 1413. 

" Majestic Windsor hfts his stately brow." 

4. Mead: A meadow; an open place where the grass is 
mown. Dutch, moeden, to mow. 

5. Hoary: Alluding to the venerable and majestic charac- 
ter of the Thames as a river. 

6. Beloved in vain: This is supposed to be an allusion to 
the early death of Richard West, Gray's particular friend 
and fellow-student at Eton. West died in 1742, when Gray 
was twenty-six years old. 

7. Yet: i.e., as yet. 

8. Fresh: Either for afresh, once again; or, used adver- 
bially, freshly. 



48 NOTES 

9. Gladsome: Used in an active sense, that makes one 
glad. Cf. Pope's translation of the Odyssey: 

" On chairs and beds, in order seated round, 
They share the gladsome board; the roofs resomid." 

10. Redolent: Scented with, breathing an odor of. The 
air that blows from the playing-fields of Eton is full to the 
poet of the associations of his happy childhood. Redolent, 
from Lat. redolens, redolere, to smell of. 

11. A second spring: Cf. Cowper, On the Receipt of My 
Mother's Picture: 

" By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, 
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again." 

22, 1. Sprightly: Lively, spirited. Spright or sprite, is a 
contraction of spirit. 

2. Disporting: Playing about; now generally used as a 
reflective verb, to disport one's self, etc. First said to be 
used as an intransitive verb by Spenser in his Daphnaida: 

" I caught her disporting on the greene." 

3. Margent: Same as margin, from Lat. margo, brink or 
edge. Cf. Milton's Comus, 232: 

" By slow Meander's margent green." 

4. Pliant: Supple, capable of being easily and quickly 
moved or bent about; from Fr. plier, Lat. plicare, to fold or 
bend. 

5. Inthrall: Capture, take prisoner. A. S. thrall, a slave. 

6. Chase the rolling circle's speed; i.e., trundle their hoops. 

7. Urge the flying ball: i.e., play cricket. Cf. Pope's 
Dunciad, IV, 592: 

" The senator at cricket urge the ball." 

It may here be observed that the sports of Eton boys have 
changed somewhat since Gray's time. To catch birds and 



NOTES 49 

trundle hoops, would be amusements looked upon with 
great contempt by the modern Etonian. 

8. Murmuring labors: i.e., the boys murmuring over their 
lessons half aloud, to impress them on their memory. 

9. Gainst: Against, i.e., in preparation for. 

10. Descry: To examine, investigate as a spy or scout. Cf. 
Milton's Paradise Lost, VI: 

" Others from dawning hills 
Look'd round, and scouts each coast-light armed scoure, 
Each quarter to descrie the distant foe." 

11. A fearful joy: King Lear, V, 3: 

" But his flam'd heart, 
(Alack, too weak the conflict to support!) 
'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, 
Burst smilingly." 

23, 1. Buxom: Originally boughsome; easily bowed to 
one's will, pUant, so lively, and thin; jolly, vigorous. A. S., 
bugan, to bow, yield. 

2. Slumbers light: Cf. Pope's Imitation of Horace, Sat. II, 
2, 73: 

" Remembers oft the schoolboy's simple fare. 
The temp 'rate sleep, and spirits light as air." 

3. Baleful: Destructive, causing bale. A. S., beal, misery. 

4. Ambush: A place of concealment; old Fr., embusche. 
Lat., boscus, a bush. 

5. The ftu-y Passions: Cf. Pope's Essay on Man, III, 167: 

" The fury passions from that blood began." 

6. Skulks: Lingers behind as though unwilling to be seen, 
Dan., skulke, to sneak. 

24, 1. Jealousy: Cf. Spenser's Fairy Queen, VI, 23: 

" But gnawing jealousy, out of this sight, 
Sitting alone, his bitter lips did bite." 



50 NOTES 

2. Wan: Pale, without color. Cf. Milton's »Sonnefs, XIII, 6 

" With praise enough for Envy to look wan." 

3. Grim-visaged . . . Despair: Cf. Richard III, I, 1: 

" Grim-visag'd war hath smooth 'd his wrinkled front." 
Also the Comedy of Errors, V, 1: 

" Grim and comfortless despair." 

4. Wretch: The ill-fated, unhappy man. 

5. Moody Madness: Cf. Dryden's PaJamon and Arcite, 
II, 1192: 

" Madness laughing in his ireful mood." 

6. The vale of years: Cf. Othello, III, 3: 

" For I am declin'd into the vale of years." 

7. Grisly: Hideous, frightful. A. S., grislic; a grisan, to 
dread. 

8. The painful family of Death: Cf. Dryden's State of 
Innocence, V, 1 : 

'' With all the numerous family of Death." 

9. Their Queen: This is said to be the only instance in 
English poetry where Death is represented as feminine. 
The Latin Mors is, however, of that gender. 

10. Racks: Tortures, as if by stretching on the rack. 
25, 1. Yet, ah! . . .to be wise: Cf. Milton's Comus: 

" Be not over exquisite 
To cast the fashion of uncertain e\'ils; 
For, grant they be so, while they rest unknown, 
What need a man forestall his date of grief. 
And run to meet what he would most avoid? " 

A Greek poet has the expression : 

" He lives the happiest life who thinks of (anticipates) 
nothing." 



NOTES 51 

2. Where ignorance is bliss: Gray, perhaps, borrowed the 
lines from Prior's Ode to the Hon. Charles Montagu: 

" From ignorance our comfort flows, 
The only wretched are the wise." 

Cf., too, Ecclesiastes I, 18: " He that increaseth knowl- 
edge increaseth sorrow." 

26, 1. Notice the alliteration. 

27, 1. They mock the air: See King John, V, 1: 

" Mocking the air with colors idly spread." 

2. The hauberk was a coat of mail of small steel rings, 
woven together, and fitted the body closely. 

3. Cambria: Ancient name of Wales. 

4. Snowdon was a name given by the Saxons to a moun- 
tainous tract which included all the highlands of Caer- 
narvonshire and Merionethshire, as far east as the river 
Conway. — Gray. 

5. Shaggy: An appropriate epithet, as great woods clothed 
the mountain. See also Lycidas, 54: " Nor on the shaggy top 
of Mona high." 

6. Stout Gloster: " Gilbert de Clare, sumamed the Red, 
Earl of Gloucester and Hereford, son-in-law to King Ed- 
ward." — Gray. 

7. Mortimer: " Edmund de Mortimer, Lord of Wig- 
more." — Gray. Both were lords'-marchers, whose lands 
lay on the borders of Wales, and probably accompanied the 
King in this expedition. 

8. Loose his beard: "The image was taken from a well- 
known picture of Raphael, representing the Supreme Being 
in the vision of Ezekiel." — Gray. 

9. Like a meteor: See Paradise Lost I, 536, 537 : 

" The imperial ensign, which, full high advanced, 
Shone like a meteor streaming to the wind." 

28, 1. Hoel: a famous bard. Llewellyn: Prince of Wales, had 



52 NOTES 

refused to acknowledge Edward I as his feudal superior, 
and for this reason war was made on him and he was com- 
pelled to surrender the sovereignty of the country. Edward's 
son was afterwards called the Prince of Wales, a title still 
given to the eldest son of the reigning sovereign. 

2. Cadwallo, Urien, and Modred were bards of whose songs 
nothing has been preserved. 

3. Plinlimmon: One of the highest mountains in Wales. 

THE BARD 

4. Arvon's shore: "The shores of Caernarvonshire, op- 
posite the Isle of Anglesey." — Gray. 

5. Famish 'd eagle: Eagles used annually to build their 
nests among the rocks of Snowdon, the highest part of which 
is called Eagle's Nest. 

6. Dear as the ruddy drops: See Julius Coesar, II, 1: 

" As dear to me as are the ruddy drops 
That \'isit my sad heart." 

7. Grisly: Hideous, frightful. See on Eton College, 1, 18, 
page 24. 

29,1. Verge: Edge, border. 

2. Berkeley's roofs: Edward the Second, proved a very 
unworthy successor of his talented and illustrious father. 
He was cruelly murdered in Berkeley Castle. 

Berkeley Castle, founded by Roger de Berkeley, soon 
after the Norman Conquest, is near the Severn in the west- 
ern part of England. It is in a state of preservation and 
the room in which Edward II met his fate (1327) is still 
shown to visitors. 

3. She-wolf of France : Isabel, daughter of Philip the Fair, 
of France, Edward the Second's queen. A woman remarkable 
for her beauty, but of unrestrained dissoluteness. 

See Shakespeare, Henry VI, I, 4. 

4. What terrors: " Triumphs of Edward the Third in 
France." — Gray. The " him " refers to Edward III. 



NOTES 53 

30, 1 Low on his funeral couch: " His las' years were 
gloomy, and his death peculiarly sad, and a striking com- 
mentary on the vanity of human glory. As the end drew 
near he was utterly forsaken." — Lancaster. 

2. Sable warrior: Edward the Black Prince — so called 
from the color of his armor. He died in 1376. 

3. The swarm . . . salute the rising morn: The meaning 
of these lines is that the crowd of courtiers who had served 
Edward III, had turned at his death to salute the coming 
sovereign, Richard II : " The King is dead, long hve the King." 

4. Fair . . . the azure realm: Referring to the splendor of 
Richard the Second's reign. 

5. Observe the alliteration. 

6. A line often quoted. 

7. Reft of a crown: Richard II, after a stormy reign, 
resigned his crown to his cousin Henry, who was formally 
placed (Henry IV) on the throne by Parliament, 1399. 

8. Fell Thirst and Famine: According to English histo- 
rians Richard died of starvation after a few months' imprison- 
ment. The French historians state that he was murdered 
by violent means. Compare Virgil ^Eneid VI, 1. 603. 

31, 1. A baleful smile ... to horse: Note the alliteration 
in these lines. 

2. Heard ye . . . mow their way: The wars between the 
Houses of Lancaster and York. 

3. Ye towers of Julius: The Tower of London, where 
many royal personages are believed to have been secretly 
murdered. The oldest part of the Tower is vulgarly attrib- 
uted to Julius Caesar. 

4. Miurther: Obsolete spelling of murder. 

5. His (Henry VI) consort: Margaret of Anjou, one of 
the most accomplished and beautiful princesses of the age, 
and well-fitted by her energy and talent to supply the qual- 
ities which were wanting in her husband. 

6. " His father's fame " : Henry V, a king of great abil- 
ity, both as a statesman and soldier. 



54 NOTES 

7. The meek usurper: Henry VI, very near being canon- 
ized. " The line of Lancaster had no right of inheritance to 
the crown." — Gray. He was the founder of Eton College. 
Seep. 21. 

8. Rose of Snow — blushing foe: The white and red roses, 
designating the Houses of York and Lancaster respectively. 

9. The bristled boar: Richard III. The crest of a warrior 
often gave him a title. See Shakespeare, Richard III, 
IV, 5: 

" This most bloody boar." 

10. In infant gore: Reference is here made to the murder 
of the yoimg princes, sons of Edward IV. It is supposed 
they were put to death in the Tower of London by order of 
Richard III. 

1 1 . Half of thy heart : Eleanor, daughter of King Alfonso, 
of Castile, and Queen of Edward I. 

" Eleanor accompanied her husband in the expedition 
conducted by him in 1269 to the Holy Land; and while 
there, she is said to have saved his life by an act of devoted 
love, which a writer of her own nation has recorded. 

"Edward's prowess in the field had made him the terror 
of the Saracens, and a Mahometan fanatic resolved to rid his 
countrymen of the Christian champion by assassination. 

' ' Pretending to be a messenger, he obtained access to the 
prince's private tent, and wounded him in the arm with a 
dagger, which was believed to be poisoned. Edward hurled 
him to the ground, and struck him dead with a chair which 
he caught up ; Ijut there was cause to dread that, though the 
wound given by the dagger was slight, the poison might 
spread fatally through his frame, and Eleanor instantly ap- 
plied her lips to the injured arm and sucked the blood until 
the surgeons were in readiness and pared away the sides of 
the wound." — History of England, by Sir Edward S. Creasy. 
London, 1869. 8vo., Vol. I, page 378. 

32, 1. Long-lost Arthur: " It was the common belief of the 



NOTES 55 

Welsh nation that King Arthur was still alive in Fairyland, 
and would return again to reign over Britain." — Gray. 

2. Ye genuine kings : The prophecy that the Welsh should 
regain their sovereignty, seemed to be accomplished in the 
House of Tudor. 

3. Baron bold: See U Allegro, 119. 

4. A form divine: Elizabeth. 

5. Taliessin: Chief of the bards, flourished in the Sixth 
Century. 

33, 1. Fierce war, and faithful Love: '' Fierce warres and 
faithful loves shall moralize my song." — Spencer, F eerie 
QueenCy I, 9. 

2. This line, we learn from Gray, refers to Shakespeare. 
In classic literature the buskin stood for tragedy, and the 

sock for comedy. 

3. A voice: "Milton." — Gray. 

4. Distant warblings: " The poets after Milton." — Gray. 



iHcrriirsi eafflief) €tj:ts 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE 
THE TRAVELER 

AND OTHER POEMS 

BY 

OLIVER GOLDSMITH 



EDITED WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 
BY EDNA H. L. TURPIN, AUTHOR OF "STORIES 
FROM AMERICAN HISTORY," "CLASSIC 
FABLES," "FAMOUS PAINTERS," ETC., ETC. 



^ 



NEW YORK 
CHARLES E. MERRILL CO 

44-60 East Twenty -third Street 



Copyright, 1907 

BY 

CHARLES E. MERRILL CO. 



CONTENTS 

Introduction 5 

Critical Opinions and Estimates 27 

Bibliography 33 

Chronology 34 

Dedication of The Traveler 37 

The Traveler; or a Prospect of Society ... 39 

Dedication of The Deserted Village .... 61 

The Deserted Village 63 

The Hermit . 84 

A Description of an Author's Bedchamber ... 92 

An Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog .... 93 
An Elegy on that Glory of her Sex, Mrs. Mary 

Blaize 95 

When Lovely Woman Stoops to Folly .... 96 

The Wretch Condemned with Life to Part ... 97 

O Memory! Thou Fond Deceiver 97 

Stanzas on the Taking of Quebec 98 

The Haunch of Venison 99 

Retaliation , 106 

Notes 117 



PUBLISHERS' NOTE 
JHerriirfii eufflifil) ^tvtti 

This series of books will include in complete editions 
those masterpieces of English Literature that are best adapted 
for the use of schools and colleges. The editors of the 
several volumes will be chosen for their special qualifications 
in connection with the texts to be issued under their indi- 
vidual supervision, but familiarity with the practical needs 
of the classroom, no less than sound scholarship, will char^ 
acterize the editing of every book in the series. 

In connection with each text, a critical and historical 
introduction, including a sketch of the life of the author and 
his relation to the thought of his time, critical opinions of 
the work in question chosen from the great body of English 
criticism, and, where possible, a portrait of the author, will 
be given. Ample explanatory notes of such passages in the 
text as call for special attention will be supphed, but irrel- 
evant annotation and explanations of the obvious will be 
rigidly excluded, 

CHARLES E. MERRILL CO. 



INTRODUCTION 

OLIVER GOLDSMITH 

Not the least charm of Goldsmith's books is the inti- 
mate relation into which they bring us with one of the 
most ''kind, artless, good humored, excursive, sensible, 
whimsical, intelligent beings" in the world of letters. 
His character is reflected in his writings, as in a mirror; 
and the events of his life are repeated in the incidents of 
his tales and poems and in the plots of his comedies. 
Others might have made a tragedy of life with such priva- 
tions, such struggles, such pathos, such bitterness even; 
but our gentle humorist turned it into comedy. 

OHver Goldsmith came of a family " all equally generous, 
credulous, simple." His father. Reverend Charles Gold- 
smith, was an Irish curate, the original of the preacher of 
The Deserted Village, and Dr. Primrose of The Vicar of 
Wakefield. The pious, unworldly scholar gave his five 
sons and three daughters characteristic training. His 
son, as "the Man in Black," tells us he "took as much 
care to form our morals as to improve our understanding ; 
... he wound us up to be mere machines of pity, and 
rendered us incapable of withstanding the slightest im- 
pulse made either by real or fictitious distress. In a word, 
we were perfectly instructed in the art of giving away 
thousands before we were taught the necessary quaUfica- 
tion of getting a farthing." 

Ohver, the second son, was born the tenth of November, 
1728, in the Irish village of Pallas, where Charles Gold- 

5 



6 INTRODUCTION 

smith was then a curate, "passing rich with forty pounds 
a year." The family fortunes improved, and when OUver 
was two years old his father moved to the village of Lissoy. 
At Lissoy, said to be the original of Auburn in The De- 
serted Village, Oliver's childhood was spent. 

At the age of three he was sent to a dame-school to be 
taught his letters and kept out of harm's way. Neither 
task was easy. From the first he showed a taste for mis- 
chief and a distaste for study, which brought from his 
mistress the verdict that "a dull boy he was." At six he 
was put under the tuition — "under the ferule" accord- 
ing to the suggestive phrase of the day — of the village 
schoolmaster. Here, also, he showed himself "a stupid 
heavy blockhead, little better than a fool." Ohver 
learned more from his schoolmaster's character and ex- 
perience than from his books. Thomas, or Paddy, Byrne 
was an old soldier, a traveler, a poet or rhymester, learned 
in the lore of ghosts and fairies, voluble about war and 
adventure. His tales found an eager listener in Oliver, 
and this schoolmaster was one of the guiding influences 
of the boy's young imagination. Like his master, he 
began to write verse, and these stray rhymes were re- 
ceived by his mother as proof that he was not the stupid 
fellow he was so often called. His father intended him for 
a trade, but maternal urgency prevailed, and it was re- 
solved to send him to college. 

OHver's preparatory schooling was interrupted by a 
violent attack of smallpox, which left its marks for life upon 
his face and upon his character. That ugly, scarred face, 
that thickset, awkward figure, was a trying mask for the 
gentle, sensitive nature — a mask against which it often 
and vainly rebelled. OHver's earliest witticisms of which 
we have account were retorts to comments on his personal 
appearance. An uncle, said to lack integrity as well as 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH i 

tact, eyed him closely on their first meeting after his 
illness. 

"Why, Noll," he exclaimed, "you are become a fright! 
When do you mean to get handsome again?'' 

The boy blushed and shuffled in silent confusion, and the 
question was repeated. Then he answered with a meaning 
flash of the eye, "I mean to get better, sir, when you do." 

From Paddy Byrne's tuition, Oliver passed to other 
schools, — Elphinstone, Athlone, and Edgeworthstown. 
An incident of a journey between Edgeworthstown and 
his home at Lissoy, twenty miles away, deserves to be 
chronicled. Goldsmith, then a lad of fifteen, was making 
the journey on horseback, jubilant in possession of un- 
accustomed wealth, — a guinea presented by a friend. 
The money burned in his pocket, — for with him to have 
was ever to spend. He resolved, instead of making the 
journey in a day, to stay overnight at an inn. Meeting a 
man on the road, he asked "what was the best house of 
the neighborhood," meaning house of public entertain- 
ment. The man, a wag, who was amused by the youth's 
self-consequence, gravely directed him to what was indeed 
the "best house" — the private mansion of the squire. 
OUver here played the man, ordered a good supper and a 
hot cake for breakfast, and insisted on treating his sup- 
posed landlord and his family. The squire was himself a 
man of humor, and, moreover, he learned that the lad was 
the son of his old acquaintance, Reverend Charles Gold- 
smith. He carried on the joke, and it was not until he 
wished to settle his bill next morning that Oliver learned 
to his embarrassment that he had been entertained at a 
private house. This incident, like many other events of 
his Hfe, was turned to literary account ; it was the ground- 
work of his successful comedy, She Stoops to Conquer; or. 
The Mistakes of a Night, 



8 INTRODUCTION 

Reverend Charles Goldsmith's income was so taxed with 
heavy family expenses that he was unable to support his 
son at college. Oliver entered Trinity College, Dublin, in 
1745, as a "sizar," or charity scholar. Instead of paying 
money for board and lodging — if so we may term left- 
over food and a garret room — he performed certain menial 
offices, such as sweeping the college courts, and carrying 
food from the kitchen to the dining hall. A sizar's dress 
— a coarse black gown and a flat cap — was a badge of his 
office, his inferior position, — a galhng one, we well may 
imagine, to the shy youth with his "exquisite sensibihty 
of contempt." Goldsmith was unhappy, too, in being 
consigned to the care of a tutor of uncongenial temper and 
tastes. Wilder was an impatient, overbearing man of 
violent temper, interested in mathematics and logic. 
Goldsmith was indolent if not stupid, averse to mathe- 
matics, fond of languages and letters. 

His father was so little able to aid him financially, that 
he was almost entirely dependent on his good uncle Con- 
tarine, a country curate of unlimited generosity but limited 
means. When Oliver's purse was empty, — a frequent 
case with the poor and improvident youth, — he would 
sometimes earn a few shiUings by writing a song or ballad 
for a Dublin printer. Not the least of his reward was the 
delight as he loitered about the streets at night, of hearing 
his verses from the hps of street singers. Often, before 
he returned to his college garret, he had spent or given 
away the last penny of his little earnings. On one evening's 
stroll a poor woman appealed to him for food and shelter 
for her five little ones. Goldsmith had no money, but 
what he had he gave, — the coat from his back, the blan- 
kets from his bed, and he in turn had to be succored by 
his college mates next day. 

The great statesman, Edmund Burke, was one of Oliver 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH 9 

Goldsmith's college mates at Dublin. But they moved in 
different circles in their little world, and did not become 
acquaintances and friends until they met in the'Uterary 
world of London. 

Reverend Charles Goldsmith died in 1747, leaving his 
widow a bare support, and Ohver's only resource was the 
bounty of his uncle Contarine. He finished his college 
course, however, and, at the foot of his class, left DubHn 
in February, 1749, a Bachelor of Arts. 

He left college, but he had no longer a home to which to 
turn. The Lissoy cottage, dear to his childhood and 
youth, had passed from the family at his father's death. 
His mother, straitened in means, had retired with her 
daughters to a little cottage at Ballymahon. His uncle 
Contarine and his brother Henry were both curates with 
small incomes and famihes of their own. But their hearts 
and houses were open to the idle, lovable fellow whose 
college career must have been a great disappointment to 
them all. They urged upon him now the necessity of 
choosing a profession and of preparing himself for it. 

Rather in accordance with the wishes of his family than 
with his own inclination, it was decided that Oliver should 
follow the example of his father and brother and become 
a clergyman. As he whimsically said, he had no fancy 
for the somber color of a clergyman's clothes, — and, as 
he said about reading prayers in later years, he "did not 
think himself good enough." Still he accepted this choice 
of a profession. On account of his youth, it was necessary 
to defer for two years his entrance into the sacred office. 
Instead of spending this time in preparatory studies, 
Goldsmith amused himself visiting relatives and friends, 
fishing, hunting, frolicking at inns, reading nothing graver 
than volumes of travels, poems, novels, and plays. It is 
small wonder that when he presented himself before the 



10 INTRODUCTION' 

bishop he w^as rejected. The immediate cause of rejection 
is a matter of no moment — whether, as some assert, he 
appeared in ''flaming scarlet breeches," whether there 
were unsatisfactory reports from his old tutor, or whether 
he was found w^anting in the required preparatory studies. 
He was unfit for the office ; the bishop recognized his un- 
fitness. 

On his friends again devolved the task of finding him a 
vocation, and his uncle Contarine secured him a place as 
tutor in a gentleman's family. Its duties proved uncon- 
genial. Goldsmith soon quarreled with his employer and 
left him, but carried away, as his salary, the unheard-of 
wealth of thirty pounds. For six weeks he disappeared 
from the view of his friends ; then he reappeared — with- 
out the thirty pounds. That had gone at cards and merry- 
making. His relatives were naturally angry and indig- 
nant at his conduct, but a peace was patched up, and again 
the family conclave assembled to choose him a profession. 
This time law was decided upon, and patient uncle Con- 
tarine furnished funds for him to go to London to pursue 
legal studies. OHver bade his friends farewell and went 
— as far as Dublin, where his pockets were emptied by 
sharpers. Again he returned home, again he was for- 
given, again a profession was chosen for him. In the 
autumn of 1752 he left Ireland to study medicine in Edin- 
burgh. His light heart would have grown heavy could 
he have known that he had looked his last upon his mother, 
his brother Henry, his good uncle Contarine, upon " sweet 
Lissoy" and the scenes dear to his childhood. Often and 
lovingly in days to come his heart was to turn toward Ire- 
land, but never his vagrant footsteps. 

Oliver's first experience in Edinburgh was thoroughly 
characteristic. He engaged lodgings, then sallied forth 
to see the sights of the city. Not until he wished to 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH 11 

return to his room did he realize that he had neglected to 
learn the name of his landlady or the street and number 
of her house. By a fortunate chance he came upon the 
porter who had carried his luggage and was rescued from 
this predicament. 

We know nothing of Goldsmith's life in Edinburgh ex- 
cept from one or two pleasant letters to friends and from 
some tailor's bill for "silver Hatt-Lace," "Sky-Blew 
Sattin," and "Claret-coloured Cloth/' finery dear to his 
heart. We have no reason to suppose that in Edinburgh 
he devoted himself more assiduously to study than in 
Dublin. He gave at least nominal attention to his class 
work, and in the course of time announced his wish to go 
abroad to pursue the study of medicine in France and 
Holland. His uncle Contarine granted the desired per- 
mission and the needed pecuniary aid. In the spring of 
1754, Goldsmith went to Leyden, where he remained about 
a year, attending some lectures on chemistry and anatomy. 
His small store of money was soon exhausted, and he 
resorted to various shifts to earn a hving, — among others, 
to teaching the English language to Dutchmen, — not di- 
rectly, for he knew no Dutch, but by means of his smatter- 
ing of French. 

After a few months in Leyden, a generous Irish friend 
furnished him money to go to Paris to pursue his medical 
studies. On the eve of leaving Leyden he strolled into a 
florist's garden ; the gorgeous array of tulips reminded him 
of his uncle Contarine 's fondness for that flower, then 
fashionable and costly in the extreme. His purse was 
out in an instant, and the money borrowed for his journey 
was spent in rare bulbs for his uncle. He left Leyden on 
foot, "with only one clean shirt and no money in his 
pocket." In the adventures of George Primrose in The 
Vicar oj Wakefield, Goldsmith gives, in the main, an ac- 



12 INTRODUCTION 

count of his wanderings in Europe. On foot he traveled 
through Germany, France, Switzerland, Italy, — now 
sleeping in a barn, now sheltered in a peasant's cottage, 
paying for a dinner with a song, a supper with a tune on 
his flute, a lodging with an harangue on philosophy. For 
a while he was tutor to a miserly young Englishman, who 
could have taught him financial wisdom had it been in his 
power to learn. 

In Italy tidings came to him of the severe illness of his 
good uncle Contarine. We have a personal sense of regret 
that the kind uncle's sacrifices and loyal faith were not 
rewarded by the sight of the success and fame of his 
nephew, that he died while Oliver was little better than an 
unknown vagabond. There is some comfort in the fact 
that he did not lack testimonials of his nephew's affection, 
such as the tulip bulbs for which Oliver went footsore. 

Perhaps this tidings determined Goldsmith's return to 
England. He set his face homeward, " walking from city 
to city, examining mankind more nearly and seeing both 
sides of the picture." In February, 1756, he landed in 
Dover, with an empty purse and with a degree in medicine, 
where and how acquired we do not know. What treasures 
of thought and experience he had gained, of which later, 
in inimitable essay, poem, play, and story, he was to make 
us the heir ! 

Probably in 1756 Goldsmith looked on himself as did 
his friends, in a far different hght from that in which he 
appears to us to-day. His father, mother, brother, uncle, 
and friends had struggled to educate and maintain him. 
His school and college Hfe had been discreditable; he 
had attempted each one of the learned professions in turn, 
and in turn had failed in each. He was now coming back 
from a gypsy-Hke tramp, a journey such as a peddler 
might have taken. At twenty-eight, then, he was a failure, 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH 13 

having "nothing but his brogue and his blunders," — for 
one did not count his abiUty to write a charming letter, or 
his possession of that wonderful treasure, a literary style. 

How Goldsmith earned his livelihood during his first 
months in England, we do not know. We have some 
reason to think that he took trifling parts in comedies and 
acted as usher in a school. 

"You may easily imagine," he wrote later in a letter, 
"what difficulties I had to encounter, left as I was without 
friends, recommendations, money, or impudence." 

He drifted to London, and there, after serving for a 
while as an apothecary's assistant, he began to practice 
medicine. His patients were few and humble, his re- 
wards small, but he tried to put the best foot foremost 
with his friends, and informed them that "he was prac- 
ticing physic and doing very well." One of his biographers 
gives a humorous incident of these days. Goldsmith had 
somehow managed to procure the black coat which, with a 
wig and a cane, was the professional attire of a physician. 
"The coat was a second-hand one of rusty velvet, with a 
patch on the left breast which he adroitly covered with his 
three-cornered hat during his medical visits ; and we have 
an amusing anecdote of his contest of courtesy with a 
patient who persisted in endeavoring to relieve him from 
the hat, which only made him press it more devoutly to 
his heart." 

His success and rewards in the medical world were so 
small that he accepted the offer of a friend to take tempo- 
rary charge of a school. Here he met Mr. Griffiths, a book- 
seller, who had established a periodical called The Monthly 
Review. Goldsmith's remarks on literary subjects showed 
taste and ability, and led Griffiths to offer him an humble 
position on the Review. He gave up his school work, and 
eked out existence by translations, reviews, criticisms, 



14 INTRODUCTION 

and miscellaneous contributions to periodicals. After a 
few months of this Hfe, he was glad to leave his attic and 
return to the school of his friend, Dr. Milner. Through 
Dr. Milner's influence he hoped to secure a medical ap- 
pointment in India. To defray the necessary expenses, 
Goldsmith — working now, as always, under the spur of 
necessity — wrote a clever but rather presumptuous 
treatise, Enquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning 
in Europe. 

Goldsmith w^as actually appointed physician and sur- 
geon to a factory in Coromandel and — there the matter 
ended. The position was transferred to another person, 
whether on account of Goldsmith's inefficiency or on 
account of his lack of influence we can only conjecture. 
That it was not because he had given up the plan of a 
medical career, is certain. A short time after this he pre- 
sented himself at Surgeon's Hall to be examined for the 
office of hospital mate. The college book for December 
21, 1758, bears a record which may throw light on the 
Coromandel affair: "James Bernard, mate to an hospital. 
Oliver Goldsmith found not qualified for ditto." 

Thus necessity more than inclination- turned Goldsmith 
to literature as a profession. He had to rely for a support 
on hack work — reviews, criticisms, and memoirs. 

His Enquiry, published in 1759, had attracted some at- 
tention, from authors and booksellers especially, and led 
to his being asked to contribute to several periodicals. 
For one of these he wrote his Chinese Letters, afterwards 
remodeled and published under the title of The Citizen 
of the World. In a series of charming papers, somewhat 
on the order of those contributed by Addison to The 
Spectator, Goldsmith purported to give the experiences 
and reflections of a Chinese scholar on a visit to London. 
"Few works exhibit a nicer perception, a more dehcate 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH 15 

delineation of life and manners. Wit, humor, and sen- 
timent pervade every page ; the vices and follies of the 
day are touched with the most perfect and diverting satire ; 
and English characteristics in endless variety are hit off 
with the pencil of a master." Had the hack of Green Arbor 
Court written nothing else, these Letters would have given 
him a worthy and enduring place in Enghsh literature. 

The success of the Letters enabled Goldsmith to leave his 
attic in Green Arbor Court — furnished with "a mean bed 
and a single wooden chair" — for better quarters in Wine 
Office Court. Here, in May, 1761, began his acquaintance 
with Dr. Johnson. Johnson had come to London years 
before, as poor as Goldsmith, and hampered, moreover, by 
physical infirmity and mental gloom. Overbearing all 
obstacles, he had carried out his resolution "to fight my 
way by my literature and my wit." His Dictionary, his 
Rambler, his Rasselas, had put him in the forefront of men 
of letters, and his conversational and critical powers made 
him the literary dictator of the day. It was arranged 
that Dr. Percy should call to bring him to a literary supper 
given by Goldsmith in his new apartments. Dr. Percy 
''was much struck by the studied neatness of Johnson's 
dress : he had on a new suit of clothes, a new wig nicely 
powdered, and everything about him was so dissimilar 
from his usual habits and appearance that his companion 
could not help enquiring the cause of this singular trans- 
formation. 'Why, sir,' said Johnson, 'I hear that Gold- 
smith, who is a very great sloven, justifies his disregard of 
cleanliness and decency by quoting my practice, and I am 
desirous this night to show him a better example.'" 

The acquaintance begun that night ripened into inti- 
macy and warm friendship. Johnson gave Goldsmith 
much good advice — which was generally disregarded — 
and substantial aid. Up those stairs in Wine Office 



16 INTRODUCTION 

Court came many famous men besides Johnson, — Smol- 
lett, Richardson, Gray, Young, Percy, Akenside, Shen- 
stone, Walpole, Chesterfield, Burke, Garrick, Reynolds. 
The circle of Goldsmith's friends included most of the 
scholars and notable men of the day. He loved society, 
although he cut but a poor figure in it. His ugly face, his 
ungainly figure decked out in gay silks and velvets, his 
awkward, hesitating manner, made him often an object 
of ridicule. Even his friends, who appreciated his good 
humor and generosity and admired his genius, could not 
sometimes resist the temptation of making his credulity 
and simple vanity the butt of their witticisms. Perhaps 
his happiest hours, after all, were spent in that gentle 
genial company which he drew around himself — the 
Man in Black, Tony Lumpkin, the Primroses — whom 
he has left to cheer and delight thousands of other 
hearts. 

For some years after the success of the Letters, Gold- 
smith was kept busy with what he called "book building," 
that is, abridgments and compendiums. One of these 
was A Compendium of Biography for Young People, based 
upon Plutarch's Lives; another was The History of Eng- 
land in a Series of Letters from a Nobleman to his Son, 
which became exceedingly popular. 

Through the friendship of Johnson and Reynolds, 
Goldsmith was one of the nine original members of the 
famous Literary Club, founded by thorn in 1764. There 
was, we are told, some demur in the Club when it was first 
proposed to admit him. "As he wrote for the book- 
sellers," said Sir John Hawkins, "we of the Club looked 
upon him as a mere literary drudge, equal to the task of 
compiling and translating, but little capable of original 
and still loss of poetical composition." 

Dr. Johnson was a better judge of Goldsmith's ability, 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH 17 

though displayed in a limited field. "Dr. Goldsmith, sir," 
he said as early as 1763 to his sycophant Boswell, "is one 
of the first men we now have as an author." 

For some years Goldsmith had on hand a didactic poem 
on which he wrote or blotted couplets, a few at a time, as 
fancy moved him. " Either Reynolds or a mutual friend 
who immediately communicated the story to him, calhng 
at the lodgings of the poet, opened the door without cere- 
mony and discovered him, not in meditation or in the 
throes of poetic birth, but in the boyish office of teaching a 
favorite dog to sit upright upon its haunches, or, as it is 
commonly said, to beg. Occasionally he glanced his eye 
over his desk and occasionally shook his finger at his 
unwilhng pupil in order to make him retain his position, 
while on the page before him was written that couplet, 
with the ink of the second fine still wet, from the descrip- 
tion of Italy : — 

" ' By sports like these are all their cares beguil'd, 
The sports of children satisfy the chikL' 

Something of consonance between the verses and the 
writer's occupation seems at once to have struck the vis- 
itor, and Goldsmith frankly admitted that the one had 
suggested the other." This poem was published in 
December, 1764, under the title of The Traveller; or, A 
Prospect of Society. A Poem. It is an excellent example 
of the eighteenth-century didactic poem. The author 
represents himself as sitting upon an Alpine height and 
moraHzing about the social and political condition of the 
countries spread out before him. People so httle expected 
such a masterpiece as this charming poem from "the book- 
seller's drudge," that some of them attributed it to his 
friend. Dr. Johnson; the question as to its authorship 
was settled by Johnson himself, who, moreover, pro- 



18 INTRODUCTION 

nounced the poem ''the finest poem that had appeared 
since the days of Pope.'' He read it aloud to Miss Rey- 
nolds, who had toasted Goldsmith as the ughest man of 
her acquaintance. "Well/' she exclaimed, " I never more 
shall think Dr. Goldsmith ugly." 

The Traveller went through edition after edition and 
brought large rewards to the publishers, but to the author 
himself only twenty-one pounds. 

Sir John Hawkins gives with undisguised irritation an 
incident showing Goldsmith's lack of worldly wisdom. 
The poet was asked to visit the Duke of Northumberland 
and "his lordship told of his pleasure in reading The 
Traveller and said that he was going Lord-Lieutenant of 
Ireland, and hearing that I was a native of that country, 
he should be glad to do me any kindness." 

Sir John eagerly inquired what Goldsmith answered. 

"Why, I could say nothing," answered the poet, "but 
that I had a brother there, a clergyman, that stood in 
need of help : as for myself, I have no dependence on the 
promises of great men : I look to the booksellers for sup- 
port ; they are my best friends, and I am not inclined to 
forsake them for others." 

"Thus," exclaims his worldly-wise friend, "did this 
idiot in the affairs of the world trifle with his fortune 
and put back the hand that was held out to assist him." 
We breathe a sigh of relief that Goldsmith was Gold- 
smith — free-hearted, independent, magnanimous — and 
pass on. 

If the poet did not know how to ask favors, he was sur- 
rounded by those who did. He had a constant levee of his 
distressed countrymen, whose wants, so far as he was able, 
he always relieved ; and he has often been known to have 
left himself without a guinea in order to supply the neces- 
sities of others. 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH 19 

Impatient of the small pecuniary rewards of his literary 
labors, Goldsmith again turned his thoughts to a medical 
career. But in vain he sported his wig and gold-headed 
cane. Patients were not to be had, and he finally put 
aside the role of physician and henceforth accepted that 
of man of letters. He worked by fits and starts on hack 
work, abridgments of history and biography, the money 
for which was too often spent before it was received. 

Two years after the publication of The Traveller there 
appeared another original work which won Goldsmith 
fame in a new field. This was The Vicar of Wake-field. 
Boswell gives us "from Johnson's own exact narration" 
a famous account of the sale of the manuscript. John- 
son said, ''I received one morning a message from poor 
Goldsmith that he was in great distress, and as it was not in 
his power to come to me, begging that I would come to 
him as soon as possible. I sent him a guinea and prom- 
ised to come to him directly. I accordingly went as soon 
as I was drest, and found that his landlady had arrested 
him for his rent, at which he was in a violent passion. I 
perceived that he had already changed my guinea, and 
had got a bottle of Madeira and a glass before him. I put 
the cork into the bottle, desired he would be calm, and 
began to talk to him of the means by which he might be 
extricated. He then told me that he had a novel ready 
for the press, which he produced to me. I looked into it, 
and saw its merit ; told the landlady I should soon return, 
and having gone to a bookseller sold it for sixty pounds. 
I brought Goldsmith the money and he discharged his 
rent, not v/ithout rating his landlady in a high tone for 
having used him so ill/' 

Investigation of old account books of the pubhsher 
Newbery shows that in October, 1762, Goldsmith himself 
sold a printer, Benjamin Collins, a third share of the story. 



20 INTRODUCTION 

This seems at first contradictory of Johnson's story. But 
Mr. Dobson suggests that Johnson probably went to New- 
bery or Strahan and "settled upon the price of the manu- 
script, and procured for Goldsmith 'immediate relief in 
the shape of an advance for one or for two shares. The 
other share or shares would remain to be disposed of by 
the author." The question has also been raised as to why 
the publication of the story was so long delayed. The 
usual explanation, following Johnson's suggestions to that 
effect, is that the publisher "had such faint hopes of its 
success that he did not publish it till after The Traveller 
so increased its author's fame." This is hardly tenable, 
because The Traveller had been published eight months 
before The Vicar of Wakefield appeared. It is more likely, 
as Mr. Dobson points out, that the story was practically 
finished when Johnson used it to relieve Goldsmith's 
necessities, and then the author, with characteristic 
procrastination, delayed to put it in final form. 

Had Goldsmith lived half a century earlier, instead of the 
story of The Vicar of Wakefield, we should probably have had 
the Primrose family immortalized in a charming series of 
papers, on the order of the De Coverley papers of Addison. 
The characterization of the good doctor and his wife is 
natural and charming, the sketches and descriptions are 
inimitable in their grace and genial humor. Because 
Richardson, Fielding, and Smollett, the fathers of the 
English novel, had lately made story-telling popular. 
Goldsmith tried to throw his material into the form of a 
novel. 

The Vicar of Wakefield was published in March, 1766. 
The periodicals of the day had little to say about it. Some 
did not mention it at all, those that did confined them- 
selves to a bare recital of the plot. The book was left to 
the public, but fortunately the public was at no loss as to 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH 21 

its verdict. The book took its place as a classic, a mas- 
terpiece of English letters, — a place which has never been 
disputed. 

Goldsmith, his sixty cjuiiicas for The Vicar of Wakefield 
out of hand almost before it was in hand, continued hack 
work, lie often undertook to write about subje(;ts of 
which he knew little, and he had neither time nor inclina- 
tion for learned research, but his clear narrative and grace- 
ful style made his compilations readable and salable. 

(loldsmith had always been a lover of the stage, and in 
17()(> he wrote a i)]ay, TIlc, (Sood-nalurcd Man. After many 
delays and difricull-ies, it was [)ut on the stage. Owing 
largely to the jealousy and rivalry of Carrick, it was not a 
stage success; but it was a financial success, bringing the 
author about five hundred pounds. This seemed a mine 
of wealth to the im[)rovi(lent (Goldsmith. lie indulged 
his passion for fine clothes, swaggering in plum-colored 
velvet and scarlet silks on the street where \w. had run 
errands ten years before as a ragged clerk. Concerning 
the "heedless expenses" of this time, Irving says very 
justly: "The debts which he thus thoughtlessly incurred 
in conseciuence of a transient gleam of prosperity embar- 
rassed him for the rest of his lif{^; so that the success of 
The (U)o(l-nalurcd Man may be said to have been ruinous 
to him." 

He moved into more commodious and more expensive 
rooms in the Temple, — "two reasonably sized, old fash- 
ioned rooms, with a third smaller room, or sleeping closet." 
These he furnished handsomely, and- here he mack; merry 
with a round of suppers and dinners, card and t(>a parties. 
lie was always ready to sing an Irish song or to join the 
young people, whom he loved to entertain in a game of 
blindman's buff. The grave lawyer Jilackstone had the 
rooms below and was busy writing his Commentaries. 



22 INTRODUCTION 

Often and often was he disturbed in his work by the 
romps and froUcs above. 

The summer of 1768 was saddened for Goldsmith by 
tidings of the death of his beloved brother Henry. He 
was now composing a descriptive poem, full of reminis- 
cences of home and childhood. The memory of his dear 
brother was with him as he strolled about the lanes and 
fields of the quiet country place where he had taken refuge, 
and it inspired some of the noblest passages of The De- 
serted Village, — for the character of the village preacher 
is said to embody Goldsmith's recollections of his father 
and his brother, who inherited his character and adopted 
his father's profession. The character of the village 
schoolmaster is drawn from Goldsmith's early master, 
Thomas Byrne. The poem, which he dedicated to Sir 
Joshua Reynolds, was not published until May, 1770. A 
friend says, "Goldsmith, though quick enough at prose, 
was rather slow in his poetry, — not from the tardiness of 
fancy, but from the time he took in pointing the senti- 
ment and polishing the versification." He made a first 
draft with lines far apart, and so interlined and rewrote 
that hardly a line remained in its original form. All the 
labor on The Deserted Village was well spent in polishing 
the gem to take its place among the treasures of the Eng- 
lish language. It is said that Goldsmith received a hun- 
'dred guineas for this poem. It is said, furthermore, that 
some one remarked to him that this was a great price for 
so small a poem. 

"In truth," said Goldsmith, "I think so too; it is much 
more than the honest man can afford or the piece is worth. 
I have not been easy since I received it." 

Forthwith he returned the money to the bookseller, 
leaving the poem to be paid for according to its success. 

While The Deserted Village was on hand, Goldsmith's 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH 23 

pen was busy with the usual treatises and abridgments. 
He followed a Roman History with a History of Animated 
Nature in eight volumes, and an English History in four. 
Though he had to take his information on natural history 
at second hand, the "good sense and the delightful sim- 
phcity of its style" made his book more readable than 
others of greater depth and scope. Dr. Johnson said, 
"He has the art of compiling and of saying everything 
he has to say in a pleasing manner. He is now writing 
a Natural History, and will make it as entertaining as a 
Persian tale." 

In 1769 the King appointed Goldsmith Professor of 
Ancient History to the Royal Academy and Johnson 
Professor of Ancient Literature. 

A few weeks after the publication of The Deserted Vil- 
lage, Goldsmith made a holiday excursion to Paris with a 
friend, Mrs. Horneck, and her two beautiful daughters. 
He did not enjoy as much as he had anticipated his visit 
to the scenes he had visited as a vagabond of twenty, 
traveling on foot, trusting to his flute and the good nature 
of peasants for food and lodging. Now he was a fashion- 
able idler, with a carriage, a wig, a velvet suit — and 
forty years. He was glad to return to London even to 
the hack work which his reckless expenditures made 
necessary. He prepared an abridgment of his Roman 
History and a Life of Bolingbroke. One of his infrequent 
poems, the amusing Haunch of Venison, was called forth 
by a present of game from his friend Lord Clare. 

About this time he wrote another comedy, She Stoops 
to Conquer; or, The Mistakes of a Night, the plot of which 
turns on an incident in his own life which has already been 
told. The play was accepted, but lay for months in the 
hands of Colman, the stage manager, who predicted its 
failure. Its financial success was a matter of even greater 



24 INTRODUCTION 

moment to poor debt-burdened Goldsmith than its literary 
success. On the fateful night when it was acted for the 
first time he walked the streets in an agony of suspense 
and foreboding. At last he mustered courage to go to the 
theater, where Johnson and his stanch friends had as- 
sembled to give the play their countenance and applause. 
They were not needed. The merits of the play — its 
natural dialogue, its clever characterizations, its genial 
humor and wit — won the day. It was a pronounced 
success from the first, and it holds its place on the stage 
to-day as one of the finest English comedies. 

"I know of no comedy for many years that has so much 
exhilarated an audience ; that has answered so much the 
great end of comedy — making an audience merry," 
said Dr. Johnson. 

The play was published immediately and was justly 
dedicated to Dr. Johnson, who took a protecting, almost 
fatherly, interest in Goldsmith's affairs. In financial 
matters the play afforded Goldsmith little more than tem- 
porary relief. He had already received from the pub- 
lishers more than they agreed to pay for it, and the four 
or five hundred pounds of stage profits passed cjuickly 
through his fingers. He wrote a Grecian History on the 
plan of his Roman History, and of this, too, the money was 
spent before it was earned. He planned a great Dic- 
tionary of Arts and Sciences, to be edited by him with 
contributions from his friends, Johnson, Burke, Reynolds, 
and others, but he could not find a publisher to support 
the scheme. 

His last years were darkened with cares, failing health, 
and pecuniary embarrassments. But his genial wit and 
humor shone out, a light in the darkness. On one occa- 
sion, when he came late to a literary dinner, the guests 
fell into the whim of writing mock epitaphs upon him. 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH ^5 

His ugly face, his clumsy figure, absurd in satin and velvet, 
his simple vanity and credulity, his impudence of shyness 
and embarrassment — these peculiarities and frailties 
lent themselves readily to satire and were dealt with 
ungently by the assembled wits. The most famous of 
these epitaphs was composed by CJarrick : — 

" Here lies poet Goldsmith for shortness called Noll, 
Who wrote like an angel but talked like poor Toll." 

Wisel}'' trusting repartee to his pen rather than to his 
tongue, (joldsmith answered in the poem called Retalia- 
tion: Including Epitaphs on the most Distinguished Wits 
of the Metropolis. This *' incomparable series of epigram- 
matic portraits which is to-day one of the most graphic 
picture galleries of his immediate contemporaries" was 
written only a few days before Goldsmith's death. When 
it was published the author was no more. 

He had been in feeble health for months, and was finally 
prostrated by a low fever. His physician said, "You are 
worse than you should be from the degree of fever which 
you have. Is your mind at ease?" 

"No, it is not," answered poor Goldsmith. These were 
his last words. On the morning of April 4, 1774, he died. 
The tidings of the gentle humorist's death brought grief 
to many a heart. Burke burst into tears, Reynolds laid 
aside his pencil, Johnson was plunged in gloom. The 
stairs were crowded with humble mourners, men and 
women and children, the afflicted and the infirm, who 
wept the loss of their friend. 

"Let not his frailties be remembered," wrote Johnson; 
"he was a very great man." He is indeed one of the fore- 
most figures of a brilliant age. The Citizen of the World, 
The Deserted Village, She Stoops to Conquer, and The Vicar 
of Wakefietd rank among the masterpieces of English 



26 INTRODUCTION 

literature, and confer on their author the distinction of 
having excelled as essayist, as poet, as playwright, and as 
novelist. 

A monument to Goldsmith was erected in Westminster 
Abbey, on which was set forth in a Latin inscription, by 
Dr. Johnson, that it was to the memor}'- ''of OUver Gold- 
smith, a poet, naturalist, historian, who left hardly any 
style of writing untouched, and touched nothing that he 
did not adorn; of all the passions, whether smiles were 
to be moved or tears, a powerful yet gentle master; in 
genius subhme, vivid, versatile; in style elevated, clear, 
elegant." 



CRITICAL OPINIONS 

There have been many greater writers, but perhaps no 
writer was ever more uniformly agreeable. His style 
was always pure and easy, and, on proper occasions, 
pointed and energetic. His narratives were always amus- 
ing, his descriptions always picturesque, his humor rich 
and joyous, yet not without an occasional tinge of amiable 
sadness. About everything that he wrote, serious or 
sportive, there was a certain natural grace and decorum. 
. . . There was in his character much to love, but very 
little to respect. His heart was soft even to weakness; 
he was so generous that he quite forgot to be just; he 
forgave injuries so readily that he might be said to invite 
them; and was so liberal to beggars that he had nothing 
left for his tailor and his butcher. — T. B. Macaulay. 

While the productions of writers of loftier pretension 
and more sounding names are suffered to molder on our 
shelves, those of Goldsmith are cherished and laid in our 
bosoms. We do not quote them with ostentation, but 
they mingle with our minds, sweeten our tempers, and 
harmonize our thoughts; they put us in good humor with 
ourselves and with the world, and in so doing they make, 
us happier and better. — Washington Irving. 

It would be easy to multiply examples of that strange 
mingling of strength and weakness — of genius and 
gaucherie — which went to make up Goldsmith's character. 

27 



28 INTRODUCTION 

Yet the advantage would remain with its gentler and more 
lovable aspects, and the "over-word" would still be the 
compassionate verdict: "Let not his frailties be remem- 
bered, for he was a very great man." And ... he was as- 
suredly a great writer. In the fifteen years over which his 
literary activity extended, he managed to produce a 
record which has given him an unassailable place in Eng- 
lish letters. Apart from mere hack work and compilation 
— hack work and compilation which, in most cases, he all 
but lifted to the level of a fine art — he wrote some of the 
best familiar verse in the language. In an age barren of 
poetry, he wrote two didactic poems, which are still among 
the memories of old, as they are among the first lessons of 
the young. He wrote a series of essays, which, for style 
and individuality, fairly hold their own between the best 
work of^ Addison and Steele on the one hand, and the best 
work of Charles Lamb on the other. He wrote a domestic 
novel, unique in kind, and as cosmopolitan as Rohinson 
Crusoe. Finally, he wrote two excellent plays, one of 
which, She Stoops to Conquer, still stands in the front rank 
of the few popular masterpieces of English comedy. 

— Austin Dobson. 

Who of the millions whom he has amused does not love 
him ? To be the most beloved of English writers — what a 
title that is for a man ! A wild youth, w^ayward but full 
of tenderness and affection, quits the countr}^ village where 
his boyhood had been passed in happy musing, in idle 
shelter, in fond longing to see the great world out of doors, 
and achieve name and fortune — and after years of dire 
struggle and neglect and poverty, his heart turning back 
as fondly to his native place as it had longed eagerly for 
change when sheltered there, he writes a book and a poem, 
full of the recollections and feelings of home — he paints 



CRITICAL OPINIONS 29 

the fields and scenes of his youth, and peoples Auburn 
and Wakefield with remembrances of Lissoy. Wander 
he must, but he carries away a home relic with him, and 
dies with it on his breast. His nature is truant ; in repose 
it longs for change, as on the journey it looks back for 
friends and quiet. He passes to-day in building an air- 
castle for to-morrow, or in writing yesterday's elegy; 
and he would fly away this hour but that a cage necessity 
keeps him. What is the charm of his verse, of his style, 
and humor, his sweet regrets, his delicate compassion, 
his soft smile, his tremulous sympathy, the weakness which 
he owns ? Your love for him is half pity. You come hot 
and tired from the day's battle and this sweet minstrel 
sings to you. Who could harm the kind vagrant harper ? 
Whom did he ever hurt ? He carries no weapon — save 
the box on which he plays to you; and with which he 
delights great and humble, young and old, the captains 
in the tents, or the soldiers round the fire, or the women 
and children in the villages, at whose porches he stops 
and sings his simple songs of love and beauty. With that 
sweet story of The Vicar of Wakefield he has found entry 
into every castle and every hamlet in Europe. Not one 
of us, however busy or hard, but once or twice in our 
lives has passed an evening with him and undergone the 
charm of his delightful music. — W. M. Thackeray, 



CRITICAL ESTIMATES 

It would be difficult to point out one among the English 
poets less likely to be excelled in his own style than the 
author of The Deserted Village. Possessing much of 
Pope's versification without the monotonous structure 
of his line; rising sometimes to the swell and fulness of 
Dryden without his inflation; delicate and masterly in 
his description; graceful in one of the greatest graces of 
poetry, its transitions; alike successful in his sportive or 
grave, his playful or melancholy mood; he may long bid 
defiance to the numerous competitors whom the friend- 
ship or flattery of the present age is so hastily arraying 
against him. — Sir Walter Scott. 

Goldsmith being mentioned, Johnson observed that it 
was long before his merit came to be acknowledged ; that 
he once complained to him, in ludicrous terms of distress, 
"Whenever I write anything, the public make a point to 
know nothing about it"; but that his Traveler brought 
him into high reputation. Langton: There is not one 
bad line in that poem; not one of Dryden 's careless verses. 
Sir Joshua: I was glad to hear Charles Fox say, it was 
one of the finest poems in the English language. Lang- 
ton: Why was you glad? You surely had no doubt of 
this before? Johnson: No, the merit of The Traveler j-s 
so well established, that Mr. Fox's praise cannot augment 
it nor his censure diminish it. Sir Joshua: But his 
friends may suspect that they had too great partiality for 
him. Johnson: Nay, sir, the partiality of his friends was 
always against him. It was with difficulty we could give 
him a hearing. — BoswelVs Life of Johnson. 

30 



CRITICAL ESTIMATES 31 

The execution [of The Traveler], though deserving of 
much praise, is far inferior to the design. No philosophic 
poem, ancient or modern, has a plan so noble and at the 
same time so simple. An English wanderer, seated on a 
crag among the Alps, near the point where three great 
countries meet, looks down on the boundless prospect, 
reviews his long pilgrimage, recalls the varieties of scenery, 
of climate, of government, of religion, of national charac- 
ter, which he has observed, and comes to the conclusion, 
just or unjust, that our happiness depends little on political 
institutions, and much on the temper and regulation of 
our minds. — Macaulay. 

A little poem which we passionately received into our 
circle allowed us from henceforward to think of nothing 
else. Goldsmith's Deserted Village necessarily delighted 
every one at that grade of cultivation, in that sphere of 
thought. Not as living and active, but as a departed, 
vanished existence, was described, all that one so readily 
looked upon, that one loved, prized, sought passionately 
in the present, to take part in it with the cheerfulness of 
youth. . . . Here, again, we found an honest Wakefield, 
in his well-known circle, yet no longer in his living, bodily 
form, but as a shadow recalled by the soft, mournful tones 
of the elegiac poet. The very thought of this picture is 
one of the happiest possible, when once the design is 
formed to evoke once more an innocent past with a grace- 
ful melancholy. And in this kindly endeavor, how well 
has the Englishman succeeded in every sense of the 
word! — Goethe. 

We do not read The Deserted Village for its political 
economy: we read it for its idyllic sweetness; for its por- 
traits of the village preacher, of the village schoolmaster, 
of the country inn ; for its pathetic description of the poor 



32 CRITICAL ESTIMATES 

emigrants; for the tender and noble feeling with which 
Goldsmith closes the poem in his farewell to poetry 

— L. Du Pont Syle. 

At most we can allow it [The Hermit] accomplishment 
and ease. But its sweetness has grown a little insipid, 
and its simplicity, to eyes unanointed with eighteenth- 
century sympathy, borders perilously upon the ludicrous. 

— Austin Dobson. 

The characters of his distinguished intimates are ad- 
mirably hit off [in Retaliation], with a mixture of generous 
praise and good-humored raillery. In fact, the poem, for 
its graphic truth, its nice discrimination, its terse good 
sense, and its shrewd knowledge of the world, must have 
electrified the club almost as much as the first appearance 
of The Traveler, and let them still deeper into the charac- 
ter and talents of the man they had been accustomed to 
consider as their butt. Retaliation, in a word, closed his 
accounts with the club, and balanced all his previous 
deficiencies. — Washington Irving. 

Retaliation is the most mischievous and the most play- 
ful, the friendliest and the faithfulest of satires. How 
much better we know Garrick because Goldsmith has 
shown him to us in his acting off the stage! And do we 
as often think of Reynolds in any attitude as in that of 
smiling non-listener to the critical coxcombs? 

"When they talked of their Raphaels, Correggios, and 
stuff, 
He shifted his trumpet and only took snuff." 

Would that the portraits of Johnson and of Boswell had 
been added. — Edward Dowden. 



BIBLIOGRAPHY i 

J 

I 

Life of Oliver Goldsmith : James Prior. j 

Life and Times of Goldsmith : John Forster. ! 

Goldsmith : William Black. • 

The Life of Oliver Goldsmith : Washington Irving. j 

Sterne and Goldsmith (English Humourists): W.M.Thackeray. j 

Life of Oliver Goldsmith : Austin Dobson, i 

Life of Samuel Johnson : James Boswell. j 

The Vicar of Wakefield : Parchment edition, with preface and \ 

notes by Austin Dobson. Kegan Paul, Trench & Co. I 

The Vicar of Wakefield: Bohn's Standard Library. George ; 

Bell & Sons. i 

An exhaustive bibliography is appended to Austin Dobson's j 

authoritative Life of Goldsmith. j 



33 



34 



CHRONOLOGY 



.5 u 
bX)c« 



SCO 

a 2 
-in 



CO Oi 

CO CO 



m *J a L 

sh i-" TS T 



4 o "^^ 



CO 



I? 

ha s 

eS C! 
u 

P=HCO 

kccp 



05 

:=! 

O 

O 



fcJD 



e^^ 






;.oo 






o a> c 

02 CC " 



CO 






^ .2 S 53 5 ;5 

i-H OJ -^ ?D 



c o cc :3 - 

P2H 1-5 O ^- bfl 

05 O --i CO 
■<^ O lO lO 

r^ t^ t^ t^ 






tf 



03 '^ 

QJ I— I 



pq3 O 



»-5 c3 





^ b 








G3 03 






-<s 


£ ^ 




O O 


ft 


pq *" 


r^ 


?. 


^ 


g^-l 




r-H C O) 




^^^ 




O cu 












s s 



o 
O 



O) 1-1 












So 



CO 






^^ 



O <D 

O fciO 

•'- c 

^^ 
O 

• Ph 

Ci 



CBRONOLOGY 



35 





b 




< 




p. 






m 








r^ 


c» 


f^ 


o 


l-l 


03 








C^ 










<o 


c3 


^ 


Hh 


CO 


iC 


CO 


CO 


t^ 


t— 



o 




< 






Si 


^ 


1 




§ 






^TS^- 


o 



oj o t3 

««§ 

o 

(to GO 
CO CO 



;3 
o 

o 











CO 




>. 




1 






S 






g 


g 






4J 




Ph 


1 






6 


i=! 




Hun 

llett. 


g 


? 




S 


Pi^ 




o 


- 


- 




02 


■* 






m 


^ 


^ 


O 


tn 


^ 


tf o 















Smolle 
inker." 
Death 


ra 




O 






O 


p^ 


.m 


, 


>-i 






o 


.o 


o 


00 






d 






CO 


CO 






t- 




t- 


t^ 


t^ 






t^ 




t- 




r-( 






r-H 




tH 



o-" 



CO C fl 
+j & o 

1-^ +j rj2 
(B C« 

o 
. .O 

o ^ 

CO CD 









(M CO 
CD CD 
t^ It- 



03 rt C 



CO ^ 2 
S CO j3 



lO CD 
CO CO 

1^ t^ 






03 rj 

"^ o 

p:.2 



O 03 
CO U 

"^ 03 

*^ 03 "r; 

O CO 

<1 . .•>: 

Oi o 
CD t— 



bc'w' ?:; CD rii 



H 



o^:gP^ a 

^O S^ ^rO G 

o c/2 .- *^ ^ ^ ^ 
.2 2 £ o -d -^ g 



l-H CO "* 

t^ t— t— 

t- r^ t^ 



S S.2 



DEDICATION 

TO THE REV. HENRY GOLDSMITH 
Dear Sir, 

I AM sensible that the friendship between us can acquire 
no new force from the ceremonies of a dedication; and 
perhaps it demands an excuse thus to prefix your name 
to my attempts, which you decHne giving with your own. 
But as a part of this poem was formerly written to you 
from Switzerland, the whole can now, with propriety, be 
only inscribed to you. It will also throw a light upon 
many parts of it, when the reader understands that it is 
addressed to a man who, despising fame and fortune, has 
retired early to happiness and obscurity, with an income 
of forty pounds a year. 

I now perceive, my dear brother, the wisdom of your 
humble choice. You have entered upon a sacred office, 
where the harvest is great, and the laborers are but few; 
while you have left the field of ambition, where the 
laborers are many, and the harvest not worth carrying 
away. But of all kinds of ambition, — what from the re- 
finement of the times, from different systems of criticisms, 
and from the divisions of party, — that which pursues 
poetical fame is the wildest. 

Poetry makes a principal amusement among unpolished 
nations; but in a country verging to the extremes of re- 
finement, painting and music come in for a share. As 
these offer the feeble mind a less laborious entertainment, 
they at first rival poetry, and at length supplant her; 
they engross all that favor once shown to her, and though 
but younger sisters, seize upon the elder's birthright. 

Yet, however this art may be neglected by the power- 
ful, it is still in greater danger from the mistaken efforts 

37 



38 DEDICATION 

of the learned to improve it. What criticisms have we 
not heard of late in favor of blank verse, and Pindaric 
odes, choruses, anapests and iambics, alliterative care 
and happy negligence! Every absurdity has now a 
champion to defend it; and as he is generally much in the 
wrong, so he has always much to say; for error is ever 
talkative. 

But there is an enemy to this art still more dangerous, 
I mean Party. Party entirely distorts the judgment, 
and destroys the taste. When the mind is once infected 
with this disease, it can only find pleasure in what con- 
tributes to increase the distemper. Like the tiger, that 
seldom desists from pursuing man after having once 
preyed upon human flesh, the reader, who has once grati- 
fied his appetite with calumny, makes, ever after, the 
most agreeable feast upon murdered reputation. Such 
readers generally admire some half-witted thing, who 
wants to be thought a bold man, having lost the character 
of a wise one. Him they dignify with the name of poet; 
his tawdry lampoons are called satires, his turbulence is 
said to be force, and his frenzy fire. 

What reception a poem may find, which has neither 
abuse, party, nor blank verse to support it, I cannot tell, 
nor am I solicitous to know. My aims are right. With- 
out espousing the cause of any party, I have attempted 
to moderate the rage of all. I have endeavored to show, 
that there may be equal happiness in states that are 
differently governed from our own; that every state has 
a particular principle of happiness, and that this prin- 
ciple in each may be carried to a mischievous excess. 
There are few can judge, better than yourself, how far 
these positions are illustrated in this poem. 

I am, dear Sir, 
Your most affectionate Brother, 
Oliver Goldsmith. 



THE TRAVELER 

OR, A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY 

Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, 

Or by the lazy Scheld or wandering Po; 

Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor 

Against the houseless stranger shuts the door; 

Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies, 5 

A weary waste expanding to the skies; 

Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see. 

My heart untravel'd fondly turns to thee; 

Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain. 

And drags at each remove a lengthening chain. 10 

Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend. 

And round his dwelling guardian saints attend : 

Blest be that spot where cheerful guests retire 

To pause from toil, and trim their ev'ning fire: 

Blest that abode where want and pain repair, 15 

And every stranger finds a ready chair : 

Blest be those feasts, with simple plenty crown' d, 

Where all the ruddy family around 

Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, 

39 



40 THE TRAVELER 

20 Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale; 
Or press the bashful stranger to his food, 
And learn the luxury of doing good. 

But me, not destin'd such delights to share, 
My prime of life in wand'ring spent and care; 
25 Impeird, with steps unceasing, to pursue 

Some fleeting good that mocks me with the 

view; 
That, like the circle bounding earth and skies^ 
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies; 
My fortune leads to traverse realms alone, 
30 And find no spot of all the world my own. 

Even now, where Alpine sohtudes ascend, 
1 sit me down a pensive hour to spend; 
And plac'd on high above the storm's career. 
Look downward where an hundred realms 
appear; 
35 Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide. 
The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler 
pride. 
When thus Creation's charms around com- 
bine. 
Amidst the store should thankless pride re- 
pine? 



THE TRAVELER 41 

Say, should the philosophic mind disdain 
That good which makes each humbler bosom vain? 
Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can, 41 
These Uttle things are great to httle man; 
And wiser he, whose sympathetic mind 
Exults in all the good of all mankind. 
Ye ghtt'ring towns, with wealth and splendor 
crown' d; 45 

Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round; 
Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale; 
Ye bending swains, that dress the flow'ry vale; 
For me your tributary stores combine : 
Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine. 50 

As some lone miser, visiting his store. 
Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er; 
Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill. 
Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still: 
Thus to my breast alternate passions rise, 55 

Pleas' d with each good that Heaven to man 

supphes : 
Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall, 
To see the hoard of human bliss so small; 
And oft I wish amidst the scene to find 
Some spot to real happiness consign' d, 60 



42 THE TRAVELER 

Where my worn soul, each wand'ring hope at 

rest, 
May gather bhss to see my fellows blest. 

But where to find that happiest spot below 
Who can direct, when all pretend to know? 
65 The shudd'ring tenant of the frigid zone 

Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own ; 
Extols the treasures of his stormy seas, 
And his long nights of revelry and ease : 
The naked negro, panting at the line, 
70 Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine. 
Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave, 
And thanks his gods for all the good they gave. 
Such is the patriot's boast where'er we roam; 
His first, best country ever is at home. 
75 And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare. 
And estimate the blessings which they share, 
Tho' patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find 
An equal portion dealt to all mankind; 
As different good, by Art or Nature given, 
80 To different nations makes their blessings 
even. 
Nature, a mother kind alike to all. 
Still grants her bhss at Labor's earnest call : 



THE TRAVELER 43 

With food as well the peasant is supply' d 
On Idra's cliffs as Arno's shelvy side; 
And though the rocky crested summits frown, 85 
These rocks by custom turn to beds of down. 
From Art more various are the blessings sent; 
Wealth, commerce, honor, liberty, content. 
Yet these each other's power so strong contest. 
That either seems destructive of the rest. 90 

Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails 
And honor sinks where commerce long prevails. 
Hence every state, to one lov'd blessing prone, 
Conforms and models life to that alone. 
Each to the favorite happiness attends, 95 

And spurns the plan that aims at other ends: 
Till carried to excess in each domain. 
This fav'rite good begets peculiar pain. 

But let us try these truths with closer eyes. 
And trace them through the prospect as it lies : 100 
Here for a while my proper cares resign' d, 
Here let me sit in sorrow for mankind; 
Like yon neglected shrub at random cast. 
That shades the steep, and sighs at every blast. 

Far to the right, where Apennine ascends, 105 
Bright as the summer, Italy extends : 



44 THE TRAVELER 

Its uplands sloping deck the mountain's side, 
Woods over woods in gay theatric pride ; 
^Vhile oft some temple's mould'ring tops be- 
tween 
110 With venerable grandeur mark the scene. 

Could Nature's bounty satisfy the breast, 
The sons of Italy were surely blest. 
Whatever fruits in different climes were found, 
That proudly rise, or humbly court the ground; 
115 ^Vhatever blooms in torrid tracts appear. 

Whose bright succession decks the varied 

year; 
Whatever sweets salute the northern sky 
With vernal lives, that blossom but to die ; 
These, here disporting, own the kindred soil, 
120 Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil ; 
While sea-born gales their gelid wings expand 
To winnow fragrance round the smiling land. 

But small the bliss that sense alone bestows, 
And sensual bliss is all the nation knows. 
125 In florid beauty groves and fields appear; 

Man seems the only growth that dwindles here. 
Contrasted faults through all his manners 
reign : 



THE TRAVELER 45 

Though poor, luxurious; though submissive, vain; 

Though grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet untrue; 

And ev'n in penance planning sins anew. 130 

All evils here contaminate the mind 

That opulence departed leaves behind; 

For wealth was theirs, not far remov'd the date 

When commerce proudly flourished through the 

state; 
At her command the palace learnt to rise, 135 

Again the long-fallen column sought the skies. 
The canvas glow'd, beyond e'en nature warm. 
The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form; 
Till, more unsteady than the southern gale. 
Commerce on other shores display 'd her sail; 140 
While nought remained of all that riches gave. 
But towns unman'd, and lords without a slave: 
And late the nation found with fruitless skill 
Its former strength was but plethoric ill. 

Yet still the loss of wealth is here supplied 145 
By arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride; 
From these the feeble heart and long-fall'n mind 
An easy compensation seem to find. 
Here may be seen, in bloodless pomp array'd. 
The paste-board triumph and the cavalcade, 150 



46 THE TRAVELER 

Processions form'd for piety and love, 

A mistress or a saint in every grove. 

By sports like these are all their cares beguiFd; 

The sports of children satisfy the child. 

155 Each nobler aim, represt by long control, 
Now sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul; 
While low delights, succeeding fast behind. 
In happier meanness occupy the mind : 
As in those domes where Caesars once bore 
sway, 

160 Defac'd by time and tottering in decay. 
There in the ruin, heedless of the dead. 
The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed; 
And, wond'ring man could want the larger pile, 
Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile. 

165 My soul, turn from them, turn we to survey, 
Where rougher climes a nobler race displa)^; 
Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansions 

tread, 
And force a churlish soil for scanty bread. 
No product here the barren hills afford, 

170 But man and steel, the soldier and his sword: 
No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array. 
But winter ling'ring chills the lap of May : 



THE TRAVELER 47 

No Zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast, 
But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest. 

Yet, still, even here content can spread a charm, 
Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm. 176 

Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts tho' 

small. 
He sees his little lot the lot of all; 
Sees no contiguous palace rear its head 
To shame the meanness of his humble shed; 180 
No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal 
To make him loath his vegetable meal; 
But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil. 
Each wish contracting fits him to the soil. 
Cheerful at morn he wakes from short repose, 185 
Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes; 
With patient angle trolls the finny deep; 
Or drives his venturous plow-share to the steep; 
Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the way. 
And drags the struggling savage into day. 190 

At night returning, every labor sped. 
He sits him down the monarch of a shed; 
Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys 
His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze; 
While his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard, 195 



48 THE TRAVELER 

Displays her cleanly platter on the board : 
And haply too some pilgrim, thither led, 
With many a tale repays the nightly bed. 
Thus every good his native wilds impart 
200 Imprints the patriot passion on his heart; 

And e'en those ills that round his mansion rise 
Enhance the bUss his scanty fund supphes. 
Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, 
And dear that hill which lifts him to the 
storms ; 
205 And as a child, w^hen scaring sounds molest, 
CUngs close and closer to the mother's breast. 
So the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar 
But bind him to his native mountains more. 
Such are the charms to barren states as- 
sign' d; 
210 Their wants but few, their wishes all confin'd. 
Yet let them only share the praises due : 
If few their wants, their pleasures are but few; 
For every want that stimulates the breast 
Becomes a source of pleasure when redrest; 
215 Whence from such lands each pleasing science 
flies 
That first excites desire, and then supplies; 



THE TRAVELER 49 

Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy, 
To fill the languid pause with finer joy; 
Unknown those powers that raise the soul to flame, 
Catch every nerve, and vibrate through the frame. 
Their level life is but a smold'ring fire, 221 

Unquench'd by want, unfann'd by strong desire; 
Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer 
On some high festival of once a year, 
In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire, 225 

Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire. 

But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow: 
Their morals, like their pleasures, are but low; 
For, as refinement stops, from sire to son 
Unalter'd, unimprov'd, the manners run, 230 

And love's and friendship's finely-pointed dart 
FaU blunted from each indurated heart. 
Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast 
May sit, hke falcons, cow'ring on the nest; 
But all the gentler morals, such as play 235 

Thro' fife's more cultur'd walks, and charm the 

way, 
These, far dispers'd, on timorous pinions fly, 
To sport and flutter in a kinder sky. 

To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign, 



50 THE TRAVELER 

240 I turn; and France displays her bright domain. 
Gay, sprightly land of mirth and social ease, 
Pleas' d with thyself, whom all the world can 

please. 
How often have I led thy sportive choir, 
With tuneless pipe, beside the murmuring 
Loire? 
245 WTiere shading elms along the margin grew, 
And freshen' d from the wave the Zephyr flew; 
And haply, though my harsh touch, faltering 

still. 
But mocked all tune, and marr'd the dancer's 

skill, 
Yet would the village praise my wonderous 
power, 
250 And dance, forgetful of the noon-tide hour. 
Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days 
Have led their children through the mirthful 

maze. 
And the gay grandsire, skill' d in gestic lore. 
Has frisk 'd beneath the burthen of threescore. 
255 So blest a Hfe these thoughtless realms 
display; 
Thus idly busy rolls their world away; 



THE TRAVELER 51 

Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear, 
For honor forms the social temper here. 
Honor, that praise which real merit gains, 
Or even imaginary worth obtains, 260 

Here passes current: paid from hand to hand, 
It shifts in splendid traffic round the land; 
From courts to camps, to cottages, it strays. 
And all are taught an avarice of praise. 
They please, are pleas'd; they give to get esteem; 
Till, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem. 
But while this softer art their bliss supplies, 267 
It gives their follies also room to rise; 
For praise too dearly lov'd, or warmly sought, 
Enfeebles all internal strength of thought, 270 

And the weak soul, within itself unblest. 
Leans for all pleasure on another's breast. 
Hence ostentation here, with tawdry art, 
Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart; 
Here vanity assumes her pert grimace, 275 

And trims her robes of frieze with copper lace; 
Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer. 
To boast one splendid banquet once a year; 
The mind still turns where shifting fashion draws, 
Nor weighs the soUd worth of self-applause. 280 



52 THE TRAVELER 

To men of other minds my fancy flies, 
Embosom' d in the deep where Holland lies. 
Methinks her patient sons before me stand, 
\A^ere the broad ocean leans against the land, 

285 And, sedulous to stop the coming tide, 
Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride. 
Onward methinks, and diligently slow. 
The firm connected bulwark seems to grow; 
Spreads its long arms amidst the watry roar, 

290 Scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore. 
WTiile the pent ocean, rising o'er the pile. 
Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile : 
The slow canal, the yellow blossom'd vale, 
The willow tufted bank, the gliding sail, 

295 The crowded mart, the cultivated plain, — 
A new creation rescu'd from his reign. 

Thus w^hile around the wave-subjected soil 
Impels the native to repeated toil. 
Industrious habits in each bosom reign, 

300 And industry begets a love of gain. 

Hence all the good from opulence that springs. 
With all those ills superfluous treasure brings. 
Are here display'd. Their nmch-lov'd wealth 
imparts 



THE TRAVELER 53 

Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts : 

But view them closer, craft and fraud appear; 305 

E'en liberty itself is barter'd here. 

At gold's superior charms all freedom flies; 

The needy sell it, and the rich man buys; 

A land of tyrants, and a den of slaves, 

Here wretches seek dishonorable graves, 310 

And calmly bent, to servitude conform. 

Dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm. 

Heavens! how unlike their Belgic sires of old. 
Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold; 
War in each breast, and freedom on each brow: 315 
How much unlike the sons of Britain now! 

Fir'd at the sound, my genius spreads her wing, 
And flies where Britain courts the western spring; 
Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride. 
And brighter streams than fam'd Hydaspis glide. 
There all around the gentlest breezes stray; 321 
There gentle music melts on every spray; 
Creation's mildest charms are there combin'd, 
Extremes are only in the master's mind! 
Stern o'er each bosom Reason holds her state, 325 
With daring aims irregularly great; 
Pride in their port, defiance in their eye. 



54 THE TRAVELER 

I see the lords of human kind pass by; 
Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, 

330 By forms unfashion'd, fresh from Nature's 
hand. 
Fierce in their native hardiness of soul. 
True to imagin'd right, above control. 
While even the peasant boasts these rights to 

scan, 
And learns to venerate himself as man. 

335 Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pic- 
tur'd here; 
Thine are those charms that dazzle and en- 
dear: 
Too blest indeed, were such without alloy: 
But foster'd even by Freedom ills annoy: 
That independence Britons prize too high 

340 Keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie; 
The self-dependent lordhngs stand alone. 
All claims that bind and swxeten hfe unkno\Mi. 
Here, by the bonds of nature feebly held. 
Minds combat minds, repelling and repell'd; 

345 Ferments arise, imprison'd factions roar, 
Represt ambition struggles round her shore. 
Till, over-wrought, the general system feels 



THE TRAVELER 55 

Its motions stop, or frenzy fire the wheels. 

Nor this the worst. As nature's ties decay, 
As duty, love, and honor fail to sway, 350 

Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law. 
Still gather strength, and force unwilling awe. 
Hence all obedience bows to these alone, 
And talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown: 
Till time may come, when, stript of all her charms. 
The land of scholars and the nurse of arms, 356 
Where noble stems transmit the patriot flame, 
Where kings have toil'd and poets wrote for fame. 
One sink of level avarice shall he. 
And scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonor'd die. 360 

Yet think not, thus when Freedom's ills I state, 
I mean to flatter kings, or court the great: 
Ye powers of truth that bid my soul aspire. 
Far from my bosom drive the low desire. 
And thou, fair Freedom, taught alike to feel 365 
The rabble's rage and tyrant's angry steel; 
Thou transitory flower, ahke undone 
By proud contempt or favor's fostering sun. 
Still may thy blooms the changeful cHme endure! 
I only would repress them to secure : 370 

For just experience tells, in every soil. 



56 THE TRAVELER 

That those who think must govern those that 

toil; 
And all that Freedom's highest aims can reach 
Is but to lay proportion' d loads on each. 
375 Hence, should one order disproportioned grow, 
Its double weight must ruin all below. 

then how bhnd to all that truth requires, 
Who think it freedom when a part aspires! 
Calm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms, 
380 Except when fast approaching danger warms; 
But when contending chiefs blockade the 

throne. 
Contracting regal power to stretch their own, 
When I behold a factious band agree 
To call it freedom when themselves are free, 
385 Each wanton judge new penal statutes draw. 
Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the 

law. 
The wealth of climes where savage nations 

roam 
Pillag'd from slaves to purchase slaves at 

home. 
Fear, pity, justice, indignation start, 
390 Tear off reserve, and bare my swelhng heart; 



THE TRAVELER 57 

Till half a patriot, half a coward grown, 
I fly from petty tyrants to the throne. 

Yes, brother, curse with me that baleful hour 
When first ambition struck at regal power; 
And thus polluting honor in its source, 395 

Gave wealth to sway the mind with double 

force. 
Have we not seen, round Britain's peopled shore. 
Her useful sons exchanged for useless ore. 
Seen all her triumphs but destruction haste, 
Like flaring tapers brightening as they waste? 400 
Seen opulence, her grandeur to maintain. 
Lead stern depopulation in her train, 
And over fields where scattered hamlets rose 
In barren solitary pomp repose? 
Have we not seen at pleasure's lordly call 405 

The smihng long-frequented village fall? 
Beheld the duteous son, the sire decay'd. 
The modest matron, and the blushing maid, 
Forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train. 
To traverse chmes beyond the western main; 4io 
Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around, 
And Niagara stuns with thund'ring sound? 

Even now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays 



58 THE TRAVELER 

Through tangled forests and through danger- 
ous ways, 
415 Where beasts with man divided empire claim, 
And the brown Indian marks with murderous 

aim; 
There, while above the giddy tempest flies, 
• And all around distressful yells arise, 
The pensive exile, bending with his woe, 
420 To stop too fearful, and too faint to go. 

Casts a long look where England's glories 

shine. 
And bids his bosom sympathize with mine. 

Vain, very vain, my weary search to find 
That bUss which only centres in the mind : 
425 Why have I stray' d from pleasure and repose. 
To seek a good each government bestows? 
In every government, though terrors reign, 
Though tyrant kings or tyrant laws restrain. 
How small, of all that human hearts endure, 
430 That part which laws or king can cause or cure ! 
Still to ourselves in every place consigned. 
Our own felicity we make or find : 
With secret course, which no loud storms 
annoy. 



THE TRAVELER 59 

Glides the smooth current of domestic joy. 
The hfted ax, the agonizing wheel, 435 

Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel, 
To men remote from power but rarely known. 
Leave reason, faith, and conscience all our own. 



DEDICATION 

TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS 

Deasi Sir, 

I CAN have no expectations in an address of this kind, 
either to add to your reputation, or to estabUsh my own. 
You can gain nothing from my admiration, as I am 
ignorant of that art in which you are said to excel ; and I 
may lose much by the severity of your judgment, as few 
have a juster taste in poetry than you. Setting interest 
therefore aside, to which I never paid much attention, I 
must be indulged at present in following my affections. 
The only dedication I ever made was to my brother, 
because I loved him better than most other men. He is 
since dead. Permit me to inscribe this Poem to you. 

How far you may be pleased with the versification and 
mere mechanical parts of this attempt, I do not pretend 
to enquire; but I know you will object (and indeed several 
of our best and wisest friends concur in the opinion) that 
the depopulation it deplores is no where to be seen, and 
the disorders it laments are only to be found in the poet's 
own imagination. To this I can scarcely make any other 
answer than that I sincerely believe what I have written ; 
that I have taken all possible pains, in my country ex- 
cursions, for these four or five years past, to be certain of 
what I allege; and that all my views and enquiries have 
led me to believe those miseries real, which I here attempt 
to display. But this is not the place to enter into an 
enquiry, whether the country be depopulating, or not; 
the discussion would take up much room, and I should 
prove myself, at best, an indifferent politician, to tire the 

61 



62 DEDICATION 

reader with a long preface, when I want his iinfatigued 
attention to a long poem. 

In regretting the depopulation of the country, I inveigh 
against the increase of our luxuries ; and here also I expect 
the shout of modern politicians against me. For twenty 
or thirty years past, it has been the fashion to consider 
luxury as one of the greatest national advantages; and all 
the wisdom of antiquity in that particular, as erroneous. 
Still, however, I must remain a professed ancient on that 
head, and continue to think those luxuries prejudicial to 
states, by which so many vices are introduced, and so 
many kingdoms have been undone. Indeed so much has 
been poured out of late on the other side of the question, 
that, merely for the sake of novelty and variety, one 
would sometimes wish to be in the right. 
I am, Dear Sir, 
Your sincere friend, and ardent admirer, 
Oliver Goldsmith. 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE 

Sweet Auburn ! loveliest village of the plain ; 

Where health and plenty cheered the laboring 

swain, 

Where smihng spring its earliest visit paid, 

And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed: 

Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, 5 

Seats of my youth, when every sport could please. 

How often have I loitered o'er thy green, 

Where humble happiness endeared each scene ! 

How often have I paused on every charm. 

The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, 10 

The never-faihng brook, the busy mill, 

The decent church that topt the neighboring hill. 

The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade. 

For talking age and whispering lovers made ! 

How often have I blest the coming day, 15 

When toil remitting lent its turn to play, 

And all the village train, from labor free. 

Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree, 

While many a pastime circled in the shade, 

63 



64 THE DESERTED VILLAGE 

20 The young contending as the old surveyed; 
And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground, 
And sleights of art and feats of strength went 

round. 
And still, as each repeated pleasure tired, 
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired; 
25 The dancing pair that simply sought renown 
By holding out to tire each other down ; 
The swain mistrustless of his smutted face, 
While secret laughter tittered round the place ; 
The bashful virgin's side-long looks of love, 
30 The matron's glance that w^ould those looks 
reprove. 
These were thy charms, sweet village! sports 

like these, 
With sweet succession, taught even toil to 

please : 
These round thy bowers their cheerful influ- 
ence shed: 
These were thy charms — but all these charms 
are fled. 
35 Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, 
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms with- 
drawn ; 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE 65 

Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, 

A.nd desolation saddens all thy green : 

One only master grasps the whole domain, 

And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain. 40 

No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, 

But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way : 

Along thy glades, a soHtary guest. 

The hollow sounding bittern guards its nest; 

Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, 45 

And tires their echoes with unvaried cries; 

Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all, 

And the long grass o'ertops the moldering wall; 

And trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand. 

Far, far away thy children leave the land. 50 

111 fares the land, to hastening ills a prey. 
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay : 
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; 
A breath can make them, as a breath has made: 
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 55 
When once destroyed, can never be supphed. 

A time there was, ere England's griefs began. 
When every rood of ground maintained its man; 
For him light labor spread her wholesome store, 
Just gave what life required, but gave no more : 60 



66 THE DESERTED VILLAGE 

His best companions, innocence and health ; 

And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. 
But times are altered; trade's unfeeling train 

Usurp the land and dispossess the swain; 
65 Along the lawn, where scattered hamlets rose. 

Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose. 

And every want to opulence allied, 

And every pang that folly pays to pride. 

These gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, 
70 Those calm desires that asked but little room. 

Those healthful sports that graced the peace- 
ful scene. 

Lived in each look, and brightened all the 
green; 

These, far departing, seek a kinder shore. 

And rural mirth and manners are no more. 
75 Sweet Auburn ! parent of the bhssf ul hour. 

Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. 

Here, as I take my solitary rounds 

Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds, 

And, many a year elapsed, return to view 
80 Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn 
grew. 

Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE 67 

Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. 

In all my wanderings round this world of care, 
In all my griefs — and God has given my share — 
I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, 85 
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; 
To husband out life's taper at the close. 
And keep the flame from wasting by repose : 
I still had hopes, for pride attends us still. 
Amidst the swains to show my book-learned 
skill, 90 

Around my fire an evening group to draw. 
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw; 
And, as an hare whom hounds and horns pursue 
Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, 
I still had hopes, my long vexations past, 95 

Here to return — and die at home at last. 

blest retirement, friend to fife's decline, 
Retreats from care, that never must be mine. 
How happy he who crowns in shades like these 
A youth of labor with an age of ease; lOO 

Who quits a world where strong temptations try, 
And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly! 
For him no wretches, born to work and weep. 
Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep; 



68 THE DESERTED VILLAGE 

105 No surly porter stands in guilty state, 
To spurn imploring famine from the gate; 
But on he moves to meet his latter end, 
Angels around befriending Virtue's friend; 
Bends to the grave with unperceived decay, 
110 \\niile resignation gently slopes the way; 

And, all his prospects brightening to the last. 
His heaven commences ere the world be past! 
Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's 
close 
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose. 
115 There, as I past with careless steps and slow, 
The mingling notes came softened from below; 
The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung, 
The sober herd that lowed to meet their 3^oung, 
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, 
120 The playful children just let loose from school, 
The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whis- 
pering wind. 
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant 

mind; — 
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade. 
And filled each pause the nightingale had 
made. 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE 69 

But now the sounds of population fail, 125 

No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, 

No busy steps the grass-grown foot-way tread, 

For all the bloomy flush of hfe is fled. 

All but yon widowed, sohtary thing. 

That feebly bends beside the plashy spring : 130 

She, wretched matron, forced in age, for bread. 

To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread. 

To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn. 

To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn; 

She only left of all the harmless train, 135 

The sad historian of the pensive plain. 

Near yonder copse, where once the garden 

smiled, 
And still where many a garden flower grows wild; 
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose. 
The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 140 
A man he was to all the country dear. 
And passing rich with forty pounds a year; 
Remote from towns he ran his godly race. 
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his 

place; 
Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power, 145 

By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour; 



70 THE DESERTED VILLAGE 

Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, 
More skilled to raise the wretched than to 

rise. 
His house was known to all the vagrant train ; 
150 He chid their wanderings but relieved their 
pain : 
The long remembered beggar was his guest, 
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; 
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud. 
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims 
allowed ; 
155 The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay. 
Sat by his fire, and talked the night away, 
Wept o'er his wounds or tales of sorrow done. 
Shouldered his crutch and shewed how fields 

were won. 
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned 
to glow, 
160 And quite forgot their vices in their woe; 
Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 
His pity gave ere charity began. 

Thus to relieve the wTetched was his pride. 
And e'en his failings leaned to Virtue's side; 
165 But in his duty prompt at every call, 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE 71 

He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all; 
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries 
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, 
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay. 
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 170 

Beside the bed where parting hfe was laid. 
And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismayed, 
The reverend champion stood. At his control 
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; 
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to 
raise, 175 

And his last faltering accents whispered praise. 

At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 
His looks adorned the venerable place; 
Truth from his hps prevailed with double sway. 
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. 180 
The service past, around the pious man. 
With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran; 
Even children followed with endearing wile, 
And plucked his gown to share the good man's 

smile. 
His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest; 185 
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distrest : 
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, 



72 THE DESERTED VILLAGE 

But all his serious thoughts had rest in 

heaven. 
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, 
190 Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the 
storm, 
Tho' round its breast the rolHng clouds are 

spread. 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 
Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the 
way. 
With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay, 
195 There, in his noisy mansion, skill 'd to rule. 
The village master taught his little school. 
A man severe he was, and stern to view; 
I knew him well, and every truant knew : 
Well had the boding tremblers learned to 
trace 
200 The day's disasters in his morning face; 

Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee 
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; 
Full well the busy whisper circling round 
Conveyed the dismal tidings w^hen he frowned. 
205 Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, 
The love he bore to learning was in fault; 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE 73 

The village all declared how much he knew : 
'Twas certain he could write, and cypher too; 
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, 
And even the story ran that he could gauge: 210 
In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill. 
For, even tho' vanquished, he could argue still; 
While words of learned length and thundering 

sound 
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around ; 
And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, 215 
That one small head could carry all he knew. 

But past is all his fame. The very spot 
Where many a time he triumphed is forgot. 
Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, 
Where once the sign-post caught the passing 
eye, 220 

Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts 

inspired. 
Where grey-beard mirth and smiling toil retired, 
Wliere village statesmen talked with looks pro- 
found. 
And news much older than their ale went roimd. 
Imagination fondly stoops to trace 225 

The parlor splendors of that festive place : 



74 THE DESERTED VILLAGE 

The white-washed wall, the nicely sanded 

floor, 
The varnished clock that clicked behind the 

door; 
The chest contrived a double debt to pay, 
230 A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day; 
The pictures placed for ornament and use. 
The twelve good rules, the royal game of 

goose ; 
The hearth, except when winter chill'd the 

day. 
With aspen boughs and flowers and fennel gay; 
235 While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for shew. 
Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in a row. 

Vain transitory splendors! could not all 
Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall? 
Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart 
240 An hour's importance to the poor man's heart. 
Thither no more the peasant shall repair 
To sweet oblivion of his daily care; 
No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, 
No more the wood-man's ballad shall prevail; 
245 No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear. 
Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear; 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE 75 

The host himself no longer shall be found 
Careful to see the mantling bhss go round; 
Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest, 
Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. 250 

Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, 
These simple blessings of the lowly train; 
To me more dear, congenial to my heart. 
One native charm, than all the gloss of art; 
Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play, 255 
The soul adopts, and owns their first born sway; 
Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, 
Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined. 
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade. 
With all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed — 260 
In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, 
The toiling pleasure sickens into pain ; 
And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy. 
The heart distrusting asks if this be joy. 

Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey 265 
The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 
Tis yours to judge, how wide the limits stand 
Between a splendid and an happy land. 
Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore. 
And shouting Folly hails them from her shore; 270 



76 THE DESERTED VILLAGE 

Hoards e'en beyond the miser's wish abound, 
And rich men flock from all the world around. 
Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a 

name 
That leaves our useful products still the same. 
275 Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride 
Takes up a space that many poor supphed ; 
Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds. 
Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds : 
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth 
280 Has robbed the neighboring fields of half their 
growth; 
His seat, where solitary sports are seen. 
Indignant spurns the cottage from the green : 
Around the world each needful product flies. 
For all the luxuries the world supplies; 
285 While thus the land adorned for pleasure all 
In barren splendor feebly waits the fall. 

As some fair female unadorned and plain, 
Secure to please while youth confirms her 

reign. 
Slights every borrowed charm that dress 
supplies, 
290 Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes; 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE 77 

But when those charms are past, for charms are 

frail, 
When time advances, and when lovers fail, 
She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, 
In all the glaring impotence of dress. 
Thus fares the land by luxury betrayed : 295 

In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed. 
But verging to decline, its splendors rise ; 
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise: 
While, scourged by famine from the smiling land, 
The mournful peasant leads his humble band, 300 
And while he sinks, without one arm to save. 
The country blooms — a garden and a grave. 

Where then, ah! where, shall poverty reside. 
To scape the pressure of contiguous pride? 
If to some common's fenceless Hmits strayed 305 
He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, 
Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide. 
And even the bare-worn common is denied. 

If to the city sped — what waits him there? 
To see profusion that he must not share; 310 

To see ten thousand baneful arts combined 
To pamper luxury, and thin mankind; 
To see those joys the sons of pleasure know 



78 THE DESERTED VILLAGE 

Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe. 
315 Here while the courtier ghtters in brocade, 
There the pale artist phes the sickly trade; 
Here while the proud their long-drawn pomps 

display, 

There the black gibbet glooms beside the way. 

The dome where pleasure holds her midnight 

reign 

320 Here, richly deckt, admits the gorgeous train : 

Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing 

square. 
The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. 
Sure scenes hke these no troubles e'er annoy! 
Sure these denote one universal joy! 
325 Are these thy serious thoughts? — Ah, turn 
thine eyes 
WTiere the poor houseless shivering female hes. 
She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest, 
Has wept at tales of innocence distrest; 
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, 
330 Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the 
thorn : 
Now lost to all ; her friends, her virtue fled. 
Near her betrayer's door she lays her head, 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE 79 

And, pinch 'd with cold, and shrinking from the 

shower. 
With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, 
When idly first, ambitious of the town, 335 

She left her wheel and robes of country brown. 

Do thine, sweet Auburn, — thine, the loveliest 
train, — 
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain? 
Even now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led. 
At proud men's doors they ask a httle bread! 340 

Ah, no ! To distant chmes, a dreary scene. 
Where half the convex world intrudes between. 
Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go. 
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. 
Far different there from all that charm' d before 345 
The various terrors of that horrid shore; 
Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray. 
And fiercely shed intolerable day; 
Those matted woods, where birds forget to sing, 
But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling; 350 

Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance 

crowned. 
Where the dark scorpion gathers death around; 
Where at each step the stranger fears to wake 



80 THE DESERTED VILLAGE 

The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake; 
355 Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, 
And savage men more murderous still than 

they; 
\ATiile oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, 
Minghng the ravaged landscape with the skies. 
Far different these from every former scene, 
360 The cooling brook, the grassy vested green, 
The breezy covert of the warbhng grove, 
That only sheltered thefts of harmless love. 
Good Heaven! what sorrow^s gloom' d that 
parting day. 
That called them from their native walks 
away; 
365 When the poor exiles, every pleasure past. 
Hung round the bowers, and fondly looked 

their last. 
And took a long farewell, and wished in vain 
For seats like these beyond the western main, 
And shuddering still to face the distant deep, 
370 Returned and wept, and still returned to weep. 
The good old sire the first prepared to go 
To new found worlds, and w^ept for others' 
woe ; 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE 81 

But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, 
He only wished for worlds beyond the grave. 
His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, 375 

The fond companion of his helpless years. 
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms. 
And left a lover's for a father's arms. 
With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes. 
And blest the cot where every pleasure rose, 380 
And kist her thoughtless babes with many a tear. 
And claspt them close, in sorrow doubly dear. 
Whilst her fond husband strove to lend rehef 
In all the silent manliness of grief. 

luxury! thou curst by Heaven's decree, 385 
How ill exchanged are things like these for thee! 
How do thy potions, with insidious joy, 
Diffuse their pleasure only to destroy! 
Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown. 
Boast of a florid vigor not their own. 390 

At every draught more large and large they grow, 
A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe ; 
Till sapped their strength, and every part unsound, 
Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. 

Even now the devastation is begun, 395 

And half the business of destruction done ; 



82 THE DESERTED VILLAGE 

Even now, methinks, as pondering here I 
stand, 

I see the rural virtues leave the land. 

Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the 
sail, 
400 That idly waiting flaps with every gale. 

Downward they move, a melancholy band, 

Pass from the shore, and darken all the 
strand. 

Contented toil, and hospitable care, 

And kind connubial tenderness, are there; 
405 And piety with wishes placed above. 

And steady loyalty, and faithful love. 

And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid. 

Still first to fly where sensual joys invade; 

Unfit in these degenerate times of shame 
410 To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame; 

Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried, 

My shame in crowds, my solitary pride; 

Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe. 

That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st 
me so; 
415 Thou guide by which the nobler arts excel, 

Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well ! 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE 83 

Farewell, and 0! where'er thy voice be tried, 

On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side, 

Whether where equinoctial fervors glow. 

Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, 420 

Still let thy voice, prevailing over time. 

Redress the rigors of the inclement clime; 

Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain; 

Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain; 

Teach him, that states of native strength possest, 

Tho' very poor, may still be very blest; 426 

That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay. 

As ocean sweeps the labored mole away; 

While self-dependent power can time defy, 

As rocks resist the billows and the sky. 430 



84 THE HERMIT 

THE HERMIT 

''Turn, gentle Hermit of the dale, 
And guide my lonely way 

To where yon taper cheers the vale 
With hospitable ray. 

5 ''For here forlorn and lost I tread, 
With fainting steps and slow. 
Where wilds, immeasurably spread, 
Seem lengthening as I go." 

"Forbear, my son," the Hermit cries, 
10 "To tempt the dangerous gloom; 
For yonder faithless phantom flies 
To lure thee to thy doom. 

" Here to the houseless child of want 
My door is open still; 
15 And though my portion is but scant, 
I give it with good will. 

"Then turn to-night, and freely share 

Whate'er my cell bestows. 
My rushy couch and frugal fare, 
20 My blessing and repose. 



THE HERMIT 85 

''No flocks that range the valley free, 

To slaughter I condemn; 
Taught by that Power that pities me, 

I learn to pity them: 

''But from the mountain's grassy side, 25 

A guiltless feast I bring, 
A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied. 

And water from the spring. 

"Then, pilgrim, turn; thy cares forego; 

All earth-born cares are wrong : 30 

Man wants but Httle here below, 

Nor wants that httle long." 

Soft as the dew from heaven descends. 

His gentle accents fell : 
The modest stranger lowly bends, 35 

And follows to the cell. 

Far in the wilderness obscure. 

The lonely mansion lay, 
A refuge to the neighboring poor. 

And strangers led astray. 40 



86 THE HERMIT 

No stores beneath its humble thatch 
Required a master's care; 

The wicket, opening with a latch, 
Received the harmless pair. 

45 And now, when busy crowds retire 
To take their evening rest. 
The Hermit trimmed his little fire, 
And cheered his pensive guest : 

And spread his vegetable store, 
50 And gaily pressed and smiled; 
And skilled in legendary lore, 
The lingering hours beguiled. 

Around in sympathetic mirth, 
Its tricks the kitten tries, 
55 The cricket chirrups on the hearth, 
The crackling fagot flies. 

But nothing could a charm impart 

To soothe the stranger's woe; 
For grief was heavy at his heart, 
60 And tears began to flow. 



THE HERMIT 87 

His rising cares the Hermit spied, 

With answering care opprest : 
"And whence, unhappy youth," he cried, 

"The sorrows of thy breast? 

"From better habitations spurned, 65 

Reluctant dost thou rove? 
Or grieve for friendship unre turned. 

Or unregarded love? 

"Alas! the joys that fortune brings. 
Are trifling, and decay; 70 

And those who prize the paltry things 
More trifling still than they. 

"And what is friendship but a name, 

A charm that lulls to sleep, 
A shade that follows wealth or fame, 75 

But leaves the wretch to weep? 

"And love is still an emptier sound, 

The modern fair one's jest; 
On earth unseen, or only found 

To warm the turtle's nest. 80 



88 THE HERMIT 

''For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush, 
And spurn the sex," he said: 
But, while he spoke, a rising blush 
His love-lorn guest betrayed. 

85 Surprised, he sees new beauties rise, 
Swift manthng to the view; 
Like colors o'er the morning skies, 
As bright, as transient too. 

The bashful look, the rising breast, 
90 Alternate spread alarms: 

The lovely stranger stands confest, 
A maid in all her charms. 

''And, ah! forgive a stranger rude, 
A wretch forlorn," she cried; 
95 "Whose feet unhallowed thus intrude 
WTiere heaven and you reside. 

"But let a maid thy pity share, 

Whom love has taught to stray; 
Who seeks for rest, but finds despair 
100 Companion of her way. 



THE HERMIT gg 

^'My father lived beside the Tyne; 

A wealthy lord was he; 
And all his wealth was mark'd as mine; — 

He had but only me. 

^'To win me from his tender arms, 105 

Unnumbered suitors came, 
Who praised me for imputed charms, 

And felt or feigned a flame. 

''Each hour a mercenary crowd 

With richest proffers strove; 110 

Amongst the rest young Edwin bowed, 

But never talked of love. 

''In humble, simplest habits clad. 

No wealth nor power had he; 
Wisdom and worth were all he had, 115 

But these were all to me. 

"And when beside me in the dale. 

He carolled lays of love, 
His breath lent fragrance to the gale, 

And music to the grove. 120 



90 THE HERMIT 

"The blossom opening to the day, 
The dews of heaven refined, 

Could nought of purity display, 
To emulate his mind. 

125 "The dew, the blossom on the tree. 
With charms inconstant shine; 
Their charms were his, but, woe to me! 
Their constancy was mine. 

"For still I tried each fickle art, 
130 Importunate and vain; 

And while his passion touched my heart, 
I triumphed in his pain. 

"Till, quite dejected with my scorn, 
He left me to my pride, 
135 And sought a solitude forlorn. 
In secret, where he died. 

"But mine the sorrow, mine the fault. 

And well my life shall pay ; 
I'll seek the solitude he sought, 
140 And stretch me where he lay. 



THE HERMIT 91 

''And there forlorn, despairing, hid, 

I'll lay me down and die; 
'Twas so for me that Edwin did, 

And so for him will I." 

''Forbid it. Heaven!" the Hermit cried, 145 

And clasped her to his breast : 
The wondering fair one turn'd to chide, — 

'Twas Edwin's self that pressed! 

"Turn, Angelina, ever dear; 

My charmer, turn to see 150 

Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, 

Restored to love and thee. 

"Thus let me hold thee to my heart. 

And every care resign : 
And shall we never, never part, 155 

My life — my all that's mine? 

"No, never from this hour to part 

We'll live and love so true, 
The sigh that rends thy constant heart 

Shall break thy Edwin's too." 160 



92 DESCRIPTION OF AUTHOR'S BEDCHAMBER 

A DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR'S 
BEDCHAMBER 

Where the Red Lion, staring o'er the way, 
Invites each passing stranger that can pay ; 
Where Calvert's butt, and Parson's black 

champagne. 
Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane; 
5 There, in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug, 
The muse found Scroggen stretch 'd beneath a 

rug; 
A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray, 
That dimly show'd the state in which he lay; 
The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread ; 
10 The humid wall with paltry pictures spread; 
The royal game of goose was there in view, 
And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew^; 
The seasons, fram'd with listing, found a place. 
And brave prince William show'd his lamp- 
black face. 
15 The morn was cold; he views with keen desire 
The rusty grate unconscious of a fire : 
With beer and milk arrears the frieze w^as 
scor'd, 



ELEGY ON DEATH OF A MAD DOG 93 

And five crack' d teacups dress' d the chimney 

board; 
A nightcap deck'd his brows instead of bay, 
A cap by night, — a stocking all the day ! 20 

AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A 
MAD DOG. 

Good people all, of every sort, 

Give ear unto my song; 
And if you find it wondrous short, — 

It cannot hold you long. 

In Islington there was a man, 6 

Of whom the world might say, 
That still a godly race he ran, — 

Whene'er he went to pray. 

A kind and gentle heart he had, 

To comfort friends and foes; 10 

The naked every day he clad, — 

When he put on his clothes. 

And in that town a dog was found. 
As many dogs there be. 



94 ELEGY ON DEATH OF A MAD DOG 

15 Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound. 
And curs of low degree. 

This dog and man at first were friends; 

But when a pique began. 
The dog, to gain some private ends, 
20 Went mad, and bit the man. 

Around from all the neighboring streets 
The wondering neighbors ran. 

And swore the dog had lost his wits, 
To bite so good a man. 

25 The wound it seem'd both sore and sad 
To every Christian eye; 
And while they swore the dog was mad, 
They swore the man would die. 

But soon a wonder came to light, 
30 That show'd the rogues they lied: 
The man recover' d of the bite. 
The dog it was that died. 



ELEGY ON THAT GLORY OF HER SEX 95 

AN ELEGY ON THAT GLORY OF HER SEX, 
MRS. MARY BLAIZE 

Good people all, with one accord, 

Lament for Madam Blaize, 
Who never wanted a good word — 

From those who spoke her praise. 

The needy seldom pass'd her door, 5 

And always found her kind; 
She freely lent to all the poor — 

Who left a pledge behind. 

She strove the neighborhood to please 

With manners wondrous winning; 10 

And never followed wicked ways — 
Unless when she was sinning. 

At church, in silks and satins new. 

With hoop of monstrous size. 
She never slumber' d in her pew — 15 

But when she shut her eyes. 

Her love was sought, I do aver. 
By twenty beaux and more; 



96 WHEN WOMAN STOOPS TO FOLLY 

The king himself has follow 'd her — 
20 When she has walk'd before. 

But now, her wealth and finery fled, 
Her hangers-on cut short all; 

The doctors found, when she was dead - 
Her last disorder mortal. 

25 Let us lament in sorrow sore, 

For Kent Street well may say. 
That had she lived a twelvemonth more 
She had not died to-day. 



WHEN LOVELY WOMAN STOOPS TO FOLLY 

When lovely w^oman stoops to folly. 
And finds too late that men betray, 

What charm can soothe her melancholy? 
Wliat art can wash her guilt away? 

5 The only art her guilt to cover. 

To hide her shame from every eye, 
To give repentance to her lover. 
And wring his bosom, is — to die. 



O MEMORY! THOU FOND DECEIVER 97 

THE WRETCH CONDEMNED WITH LIFE TO 
PART 

The wretch condemned with Hfe to part, 

Still, still on hope relies; 
And every pang, that rends the heart, 

Bids expectation rise. 

Hope, like the glimmering taper's light, 5 

Adorns and cheers the way; 
And still, as darker grows the night, 

Emits a brighter ray. 

MEMORY! THOU FOND DECEIVER 

MEMORY ! thou fond deceiver, 

Still importunate and vain, 
To former joys recurring ever. 

And turning all the past to pain. 

Thou, like the world, the opprest oppressing, 5 
Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe; 

And he who wants each other blessing. 
In thee must ever find a foe. 



98 STANZAS ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC 

STANZAS ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC 

Amidst the clamor of exulting joys, 

Which triumph forces from the patriot heart, 

Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice, 
And quells the raptures which from pleas- 
ure start. 

5 Wolfe ! to thee a streaming flood of woe. 

Sighing, we pay, and think e'en conquest 
dear; 
Quebec in vain shall teach our breast to glow. 
Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung 
tear. 

Alive, the foe thy dreadful vigor fled, 
10 And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes : 
Yet they shall know thou conquerest, though 
dead! 
Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise. 



THE HAUNCH OF VENISON 99 

THE HAUNCH OF VENISON 

A POETICAL EPISTLE TO LORD CLARE 

Thanks, my lord, for your venison, for finer or 
fatter 

Ne'er ranged in a forest, or smoked in a platter. 

The haunch was a picture for painters to study, 

The fat was so white, and the lean was so ruddy; 

Though my stomach was sharp, I could scarce 
help regretting 5 

To spoil such a delicate picture by eating; 

I had thoughts in my chambers to place it in 
view. 

To be shown to my friends as a piece of virtu; 

As in some Irish houses, where things are so so, 

One gammon of bacon hangs up for a show : 10 

But, for eating a rasher of what they take pride in, 

They'd as soon think of eating the pan it is fried in. 

But hold — let me pause — don't I hear you pro- 
nounce. 

This tale of the bacon a damnable bounce? 

Well, suppose it a bounce, — sure a poet may 
try, 15 

By a bounce now and then, to get courage to fly. 



100 THE HAUNCH OF VENISON 

But, my lord, it's no bounce: I protest, in 

my turn. 
It's a truth — and your lordship may ask Mr. 

Bryne. 
To go on with my tale : as I gazed on the 

haunch, 
20 I thought of a friend that was trusty and 

staunch; 
So I cut it, and sent it to Reynolds undrest. 
To paint it, or eat it, just as he liked best. 
Of the neck and the breast I had next to dis- 
pose — 
'Twas a neck and a breast that might rival 

Monroe's: 
25 But in parting with these I was puzzled again, 
With the how, and the who, and the where, 

and the when. 
There's Howard, and Coley, and H — rth, and 

Hiff, 
I think they love venison — I know they love 

beef. 
There's my countryman, Higgins — oh! let 

him alone, 
30 For making a blunder, or picking a bone. 



THE HAUNCH OF VENISON 101 

But, hang it! — to poets who seldom can eat, 
Your very good mutton's a very good treat; 
Such dainties- to them their health it might hurt, 
It's Hke sending them ruffles, when wanting a shirt. 
While thus I debated, in reverie centered, 35 

An acquaintance, a friend as he called himself, 

entered; 
An under-bred, fine-spoken fellow was he. 
And he smiled as he looked at the venison and me. 
^^What have we got here? — Why this is good 

eating! 
Your own, I suppose — or is it in waiting?" 40 
''Why, whose should it be?" cried I with a flounce, 
''I get these things often" — but that was a 

bounce : 
''Some lords, my acquaintance, that settle the 

nation, 
Are pleased to be kind — but I hate ostentation." 
"If that be the case then," cried he, very gay, 45 
"I'm glad I have taken this house in my way. 
To-morrow you take a poor dinner with me ; 
No words — I insist on't — precisely at three; 
We'll have Johnson, and Burke; all the wits will 

be there; 



102 THE HAUNCH OF VENISON 

50 My acquaintance is slight, or I'd ask my 
Lord Clare. 
And now that I think on't, as I am a sinner, 
We wanted this venison to make out the 

dinner. 
What say you — a pasty? It shall, and it 

must. 
And my wife, little Kitty, is famous for crust. 
55 Here, porter! this venison with me to Mile-end : 
No stirring — I beg — my dear friend — my 

dear friend!" 
Thus, snatching his hat, he brushed off hke 

the wind. 
And the porter and eatables followed behind. 
Left alone to reflect, having emptied my 
shelf, 
60 And ''nobody with me at sea but myself"; 
Though I could not help thinking my gentle- 
man hasty. 
Yet Johnson, and Burke, and a good venison 

pasty, 
Were things that I never disliked in my life. 
Though clogg'd with a coxcomb, and Kitty 
his wife. 



THE HAUNCH OF VENISON 103 

So next day, in due splendor to make my ap- 
proach, 65 

I drove to his door in my own hackney-coach. 
When come to the place where we all were to 
dine, 

(A chair-lumbered closet just twelve feet by nine), 

My friend bade me welcome, but struck me quite 
dumb 

With tidings that Johnson and Burke would not 
come : "^0 

''For I knew it," he cried: ''both eternally fail; 

The one with his speeches, and t'other with Thrale. 

But no matter, I'll warrant we'll make up the 
party 

With two full as clever, and ten times as hearty. 

The one is a Scotchman, the other a Jew; 75 

They're both of them merry, and authors like you; 

The one writes the Snarler, the other the Scourge; 

Some thinks he writes Cinna — he owns to Pa- 
nurge." 

While thus he described them, by trade and by 
name. 

They entered, and dinner ,was served as they 
came. ^ 



104 THE HAUNCH OF VENISON 

At the top a fried liver and bacon were seen ; 
At the bottom was tripe in a swinging tureen; 
At the sides there was spinach and pudding 

made hot; 
In the middle a place where the pasty — was 

not. 
85 Now, my lord, as for tripe, it's my utter 

aversion, 
And your bacon I hate like a Turk or a 

Persian; 
So there I sat stuck like a horse in a pound, 
While the bacon and liver went merrily 

round : 
But what vex'd me most was that d d 

Scottish rogue, 
90 With his long-winded speeches, his smiles, and 

his brogue. 
And, ''Madam," quoth he, ''may this bit be 

my poison, 
A prettier dinner I never set eyes on; 
Pray a slice of your Uver, though may I be 

curst. 
But I've eat of your tripe till I'm ready to 

burst." 



THE HAUNCH OF VENISON 105 

^'The tripe!" quoth the Jew, with his chocolate 
cheek, 95 

^'1 could dine on this tripe seven days in a week: 
I Hke these here dinners so pretty and small ; 
But your friend there, the doctor, eats nothing at 

all." 
'^0! ho!" quoth my friend, ''he'll come on in a 

trice ; 
He's keeping a corner for something that's nice : lOO 
There's a pasty." — ''A pasty!" repeated the Jew; 
''I don't care if I keep a corner for't too." 
''What, the deil, mon, a pasty!" re-echoed the 

Scot; 
"Though sphtting, I'll still keep a corner for that." 
"We'll all keep a corner," the lady cried out; 105 
"We'll all keep a corner," was echoed about. 
While thus we resolved, and the pasty delayed, 
With looks that quite petrified, entered the maid: 
A visage so sad, and so pale with affright. 
Waked Priam in drawing his curtains by night. HO 
But we quickly found out — for who could mis- 
take her? — 
That she came with some terrible news from the 
baker : 



106 RETALIATION 

And so it fell out ; for that negligent sloven 
Had shut out the pasty on shutting his oven. 
115 Sad Philomel thus — but let similes drop — 
And now that I think on't, the story may 

stop. 
To be plain, my good lord, it's but labor 

misplaced, 
To send such good verses to one of your taste; 
YouVe got an odd something — a kind of 

discerning, 
120 A relish, a taste — sickened over by learning; 
At least it's your temper, as very well known. 
That you think very slightly of all that's your 

own : 
So perhaps, in your habits of thinking amiss. 
You may make a mistake, and think slightly 

of this. 

RETALIATION 
Of old, when Scarron his companions invited. 
Each guest brought his dish, and the feast 

was united; 
If our landlord supplies us with beef and with 

fish. 



RETALIATION 107 

Let each guest bring himself, and he brings the 

best dish : 
Our Dean shall be venison, just fresh from the 
plains; 5 

Our Burke shall be tongue, with a garnish of 

brains ; 
Our Will shall be wild-fowl, of excellent flavor, 
And Dick with his pepper shall heighten the 

savor; 
Our Cumberland's sweetbread its place shall ob- 
tain. 
And Douglas is pudding, substantial and plain; 10 
Our Garrick's a salad, for in him we see 
Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree; 
To make out the dinner, full certain I am, 
That Ridge is anchovy, and Reynolds is lamb; 
That Hickey's a capon, and, by the same rule, 15 
Magnanimous Goldsmith a gooseberry fool. 
At a dinner so various, at such a repast. 
Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the last? 
Here, waiter, more wine! let me sit while I'm able. 
Till all my companions sink under the table; 20 
Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head, 
Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead. 



108 RETALIATION 

Here lies the good Dean, re-united to earth, 
Who mix'd reason with pleasure, and wisdom 

with mirth: 
25 If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt — 
At least, in six weeks, I could not find 'em 

out; 
Yet some have declar'd, and it can't be denied 

'em. 
That sly-boots was cursedly cunning to hide 

'em. 

Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius 

was such, 

30 We scarcely can praise it or blame it too 

, much ; 

WTio, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind, 

And to party gave up what was meant for 

mankind; 
Though fraught with all learning, yet straining 

his throat, 
To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him 
a vote; 
35 Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on 
refining, 



RETALIATION 109 

And thought of convincing, while they thought of 

dining; 
Though equal to all things, for all things unfit; 
Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit, 
For a patriot too cool, for a drudge disobedient, 
And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient. 
In short, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in place, 

sir, 41 

To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor. 

Here lies honest William, whose heart was a 

mint, 
While the owner ne'er knew half the good that was 

in't: 
The pupil of impulse, it forc'd him along, 45 

His conduct still right, with his argument wrong; 
Still aiming at honor, yet fearing to roam. 
The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove home. 
Would you ask for his merits? alas! he had none; 
What was good was spontaneous, his faults were 

his own. 50 

Here lies honest Richard, whose fate I must 
sigh at; 



110 RETALIATION 

Alas, that such froHc should now be so quiet! 
What spirits were his! what wit and what 

whim! 
Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb; 
55 Now wranghng and grumbhng to keep up the 
ball; 
Now teasing and vexing, yet laughing at all! 
In short, so provoking a devil was Dick, 
That we wished him full ten times a-day at 

Old Nick; 
But, missing his mirth and agreeable vein, 
60 As often we wish'd to have Dick back again. 

Here Cumberland lies, having acted his 
parts. 
The Terence of England, the mender of hearts; 
A flattering painter, who made it his care 
To draw men as they ought to be, not as they 
are. 
65 His gallants are all faultless, his women divine. 
And comedy wonders at being so fine; 
Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out, 
Or rather hke tragedy giving a rout. 
His fools have their folUes so lost in a crowd 



RETALIATION 111 

Of virtues and feelings, that folly grows proud; 70 
And coxcombs, alike in their failings alone, 
Adopting his portraits, are pleased with their 

own. 
Say, where has our poet this malady caught? 
Or wherefore his characters thus without fault? 
Say, was it that vainly directing his view 75 

To find out men's virtues, and finding them few. 
Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf. 
He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself? 

Here Douglas retires from his toils to relax. 
The scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks : 80 
Come, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines, 
Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant 

recUnes ! 
When satire and censure encircled his throne, 
I fear'd for your safety, I fear'd for my own; 
But now he is gone, and we want a detector, 85 
Our Dodds shall be pious, our Kenricks shall lec- 
ture, 
Macpherson write bombast, and call it a style, 
Our Townshend make speeches, and I shall com- 
pile; 



112 RETALIATION 

New Landers and Bowers the Tweed shall cross 
over, 
90 No countryman living their tricks to discover; 
Detection her taper shall quench to a spark, 
And Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat 
in the dark. 

Here lies David Garrick, describe him who 
can, 
An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man ; 
95 As an actor, confess'd without rival to shine; 
As a wit, if not first, in the very first line : 
Yet, with talents Hke these, and an excellent 

heart. 
The man had his failings, a dupe to his art. 
Like an ill-judging beauty, his colors he spread, 
100 And beplaster'd with rouge his own natural 
red. 
On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting; 
'Twas only that when he was off he was acting. 
With no reason on earth to go out of his way. 
He turn'd and he varied full ten times a day: 
105 Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly 
sick. 



RETALIATION 113 

If they were not his own by finessing and trick : 
He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack, 
For he knew when he pleased he could whistle 

them back. 
Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow' d what came. 
And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame; no 
Till his rehsh grown callous, almost to disease. 
Who pepper' d the highest was surest to please. 
But let us be candid, and speak out our mind, 
If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind. 
Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys, and Woodfalls so grave, 115 
What a commerce was yours, while you got and 

you gave ! 
How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you 

raised, 
While he was be-Roscius'd, and you were be- 

praised ! 
But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies. 
To act as an angel and mix with the skies : 120 

Those poets who owe their best fame to his skill, 
Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will; 
Old Shakspeare receive him with praise and with 

love. 
And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above. 



114 RETALIATION 

125 Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt, pleasant 

creature, 
And slander itself must allow him good nature; 
He cherish' d his friend, and he relish' d a 

bumper; 
Yet one fault he had, and that one was a 

thumper. 
Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser? 
130 I answer, no, no; for he always was wiser. 
Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly fiat? 
His very w^orst foe can't accuse him of that. 
Perhaps he confided in men as they go, 
And so was too fooHshly honest? Ah, no! 
135 Then what was his faiHng? come tell it, and 

burn ye! 
He w^as — could he help it? — a special 

attorney. 

Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my 
mind. 
He has not left a wiser or better behind : 
His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand, 
140 His manners were gentle, complying, and 
bland : 



RETALIATION 115 

Still born to improve us in every part, 
His pencil our faces, his manners our heart. 
To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering. 
When they judged without skill, he was still hard 

of hearing; 
When they talked of their Raphaels, Correggios, 

and stuff, 145 

He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff. 

POSTSCRIPT 

Here Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can, 
Though he merrily liv'd, he is now a grave man: 
Rare compound of oddity, frolic, and fun! 
Who relish'd a joke, and rejoic'd in a pun; 
Whose temper was generous, open, sincere; 
A stranger to flattery, a stranger to fear; 
Who scatter 'd around wit and humor at will; 
Whose daily hon mots half a column might fill: 
A Scotchman, from pride and from prejudice free; 
A scholar, yet surely no pedant was he. 

What pity, alas! that so liberal a mind 

Should so long be to newspaper essays confin'd! 

Who perhaps to the summit of science could soar, 

Yet content "if the table he set in a roar"; 

Whose talents to fill any station was fit, 

Yet happy if Woodfall confess 'd him a wit. 

Ye newspaper witlings! ye pert scribbhng folks! 
Who copied his squibs, and re-echoed his jokes; 



116 RETALIATION 

Ye tame imitators, ye sen'ile herd, come 
Still follow your master, and visit his tomb: 
To deck it, bring with you festoons of the vine 
And copious hbations bestow on his shrine; 
Then strew all around it (you can do no less) 
Cross readings, ship news, and mistakes of the press. 

Merry Whitefoord, farewell! for thy sake I admit 
That a Scot may have humor, I had almost said wit : 
This debt to thy memory I cannot refuse, 
"Thou best-humored man with the worst humor'd muse. 



NOTES 



NOTES ON THE TRAVELER 

The first draft of The Traveler was some lines which Gold- 
smith wrote in 1755, when in Switzerland, and enclosed in a 
letter to his brother Henry. We do not know which lines 
these were, but they were probably the introductory ones 
about his home and his brother, and possibly the ones de- 
scribing Switzerland. Some years later, this fragment, with 
some changes and additions, was shown to Dr. Johnson, who 
commended it and urged Goldsmith to complete the poem. 
Dr. Johnson suggested for it the title of The Philosophic 
Wanderer, which Goldsmith had the good taste to reject, 
though he accepted some of his friend's rather stately lines. 
You will find, on page seventeen of the Introduction, an account 
of the writing and pubhcation'of The Traveler. It came out 
in a quarto volume, December 19, 1764, dated 1765, and was 
the first of Goldsmith's works which bore his name on the 
title page. Like all his other poems, it was written slowly 
and polished with scrupulous care. • The early editions of 
The Traveler, which he corrected, are full of improvements, 
— changed words, couplets, whole passages. 

The poem is written in the 'heroic couplet,' favored by 
Dryden, Pope, Johnson, and other poets of the classical 
schools. By examining the poem, you will see that each line 
consists of ten syllables, an unaccented one being regularly 
followed by an accented one; the lines rhyme in couplets. 
This meter is adapted to a formal, rather precise style. Gold- 
smith, who marks the transition between classicism and 
romanticism in English poetry, gave the classic meter a 
117 



118 NOTES 

natural beauty, a grace and charm which it had never had 
before. 

According to the customs of the time, the poem has a 
didactic theme, — the opinion that poHtical institutions do 
not affect man's happiness, which depends on himself alone, 
and that one form of government is as good as another. We, 
of course, do not agree with this opinion, which was held by- 
Goldsmith and his friend Dr. Johnson. Boswell, ever jealous 
for the fame of his idol, suggested that The Traveler owed its 
charm to the thoughts gleaned by Goldsmith, 'as a kind of 
poetical reporter,' from the conversation of Dr.* Johnson. 
Goldsmith probably got a few suggestions from various 
sources, — some from Dr. Johnson's Vanity of Human Wishes, 
some from Addison's Letter from Italy, some from Thompson's 
long, dull poem on Liberty — but the poem as a whole is his 
very own, original and inimitable. 

Title: 'Prospect' is here used in the sense of 'view.' 'So- 
ciety' means the social and political condition of mankind. 
Is this the meaning we usually attach to the word 'society'? 

1. "The very first line of the poem strikes a keynote; there 
is in it a pathetic thrill of distance and regret and longing; 
and it has the soft musical sound that pervades the whole 
composition." — Black. 

Slow: "Chamier once asked him what he meant by 
'slow,' the last word in the first line of The Traveler: 

'Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow.' 

'Did he mean tardiness of locomotion?' Goldsmith, who 
would say something without consideration, answered 'Yes.' 
I was sitting by and said, 'No, sir; you do not mean tardiness 
of locomotion; you mean that sluggishness of mind which 
comes upon a man in solitude.' Chamier believed then that 
I had written the hne as much as if he had seen me write it." 
— Johnson in BosweU's Life of Johnson. The essential thing 



NOTES 119 

is that the poet used the right word, appropriate in its twofold 
meaning. 

2, Or . . . or: Either ... or. 

Scheld, Po: Where are these rivers? Why is the word 
'lazy,' in the sense of slow-moving, apphcable to the rivers of 
Belgium and Holland? Could this adjective be applied to 
the Po? 

3. Carinthian boor: Carinthia is a province of Austria. 
Goldsmith visited it in his wanderings in 1755, and was 
denied a night's lodging by a churlish peasant. 

5. Campania: Probably there is meant, instead of the 
Italian province, the Campagna of Rome, a desolate, deserted 
plain. 

10. Goldsmith expresses this same sentiment in The 
Citizen of the World: "The farther I travel, I feel the pain of 
separation with stronger force; those ties that bind me to my 
native country and you are still unbroken; by every remove 
I only drag a greater length of chain." The chain of memory, 
he suggests, holds him to his brother, as the chain fastened 
to the ankles of criminals confines them. 

13-22. Compare The Deserted Village, hues 149-162. 

15. Want and pain: Those who suffer want and pain. 

24. In his young manhood, Goldsmith spent several years 
wandering about Europe. He traveled on foot through 
Germany, France, Switzerland, and Italy. In the twentieth 
chapter of The Vicar of Wakefield, he gives, in the person of 
George Primrose, an account of his journeyings. 

25-28. These lines, it will be observed, are parenthetical. 

27-28. The beautiful description of the horizon that seems 
to retreat from us. Compare the lines in Tennyson's Ulysses: 

"Yet all experience is an arch where through 
Shines that unt raveled world whose margin falls 
Forever and forever as we move." 

29. Leads: This verb has for its object 'me,' in line 23. 
31-36. In imagination, Goldsmith places himself in a posi- 



120 NOTES 

tion most appropriate to the train of thought which he is 
about to indulge, — upon a lofty peak of the Alps, below 
which the countries of Europe are spread like a map. 

34. An hundred: An was the original form of the adjective, 
now ' a ' and 'an.' In Goldsmith's time ' an ' was still used be- 
fore words beginning with a consonant or a sounded h, where 
we would now use 'a.' 

42. School-taught pride: Pride taught in the schools, as of 
the Stoic philosophers, who claimed that good fortune or ill 
was a matter of indifference to them. 

48. Swains: Young countrymen; its original meaning is 
'servants.' It was a favorite word with the poets of the 
eighteenth century, and was used somewhat vaguely to 
designate lovers, shepherds, or any young country men. 
Dress: Till. See Genesis ii, 15. 

49-50. In what sense is this true? 

57-62. No one ever gave sjnnpathy or money more freely 
to relieve the wants of others than did Goldsmith. From 
the college days when he gave the coat from his back and the 
blankets from his bed to a poor widow, he was ever ready to 
share his last penny or rag or crust with those in need. 

57. Sorrows fall: That is, tears, the signs of sorrow. 

69. Line: The equator, the imaginary line dividing the 
earth. 

70. Palmy: Made from the sap of the palm. 

77. What is the force of 'shall' here? What difference 
would 'will' make in the meaning of the sentence? 

Wisdom: That is, the man possessing wisdom. 
81. Compare Byron's Childe Harold: 

"Dear Nature is the kindest mother still." 

84. Idra: Idria, a mountain town on the rocky banks of 
the river Idria in Austria. 

Amo: Where is this river, and what famous cities are 
on its banks? 

Shelvy side: Gently sloping banks. 



NOTES 121 

87-98. Goldsmith here expresses the view, which later 
formed the main theme of The Deserted Village. He expresses 
the same opinion in prose. Do you think it is correct? 

90. Either: Each. 

91-92. These hnes are explanatory of line 90. 

92. Compare the hne in Tennyson's Locksley Hall: 
"And the jinghng of the guinea helps the hurt that honor 
feels." 

98. Peculiar pain: Pain peculiar to itself. 

100. The prospect: That is, the view from the Alpine 
height. 

101. My proper cares: Cares pecuhar to me. 

106. Between: What words are here to be supplied in 
thought? 

115. Blooms: Blossoms. 

119. Kindred: Kin, or like in kind, to that native to them. 

121. Gelid: Congealed; cold; — here, 'pleasingly cool' (?) 

122. Winnow: Waft, diffuse, without the idea of separat- 
ing which this verb usually has. 

124. Sensual bliss: That is, the bhss derived from the 
senses, without the idea of vice. 

The nation: That is, the Italian nation. 
130. Even while he confesses and does penance for one sin, 
he plans another. 

133. At the close of the Middle Ages, the Itahan cities — 
especially Florence, Genoa, Pisa, and Venice — controlled 
the commerce of Europe. 

135-136. Compare the lines in Addison's Letter from Italy: 
" Here domes and temples rise in distant views, 
And opening palaces invite my muse." 
136. Long-fallen: That is, since the days of Roman power. 
137-138. Compare Addison's Letter from Italy: 
"The smooth chisel all its force has shown 
And softened into flesh the rugged stone . . . 
So warm with hfe his [Raphael's] colors glow." 



122 NOTES 

Name some of the famous architects, sculptors, and painters 
who were the glory of Italy and the world about the close of 
the Middle Ages. 

139-140. The discovery of America and of the sea-route to 
India were the two chief causes of the decay of Italian com- 
merce, 

142. Unmanned: Depopulated. 

143. Skill: Knowledge, its old meaning. 

144. Goldsmith expresses this same thought in The Citizen 
of the World : "The state resembled one of those bodies l^loated 
with disease, whose bulk is only a symptom of its wretched- 
ness. Their former opulence only rendered them more im- 
potent." 

145-164. Italy was often and justly reproached for its 
servile condition, so unworthy of the power and wealth and 
genius of the past. About the middle of the nineteenth 
century, there arose a band of patriots that secured its free- 
dom and national unity. 

150-151. The Italians are especially fond of parades and 
processions. 

152. Mistress: Lady-love. 

153-154. On page seventeen in the Introduction is an inci- 
dent about the composition of these lines. 

159. Domes: Stately buildings, the old meaning of the 
word. It is now restricted in meaning to the cupola above 
a building. 

Caesars: Who were they? 

163. Pile: Building. 

165-174. Does Goldsmith seem to admire Swiss scenery? 
Notice the phrases that he uses: "bleak," "barren hills," 
"torpid rocks," "stormy glooms." Picturesque beauty and 
rugged grandeur did not appeal to the classic poets whose 
ideals of beauty were derived from the Greek. " Every 
Homeric landscape intended to be beautiful," says Ruskin, 
"is composed of a fountain, a meadow, and a shady 
grove." 



NOTES 123 

167. Bleak Swiss: Why does the poet call the people 
'bleak'? 

170. From the fifteenth century through the French Revo- 
lution, the Swiss were the chief mercenary soldiers of Europe. 

171. Vernal: This was a favorite word with eighteenth- 
century poets. 

176. Redress: Compensate for. 

181-182. These hues depend on the verb 'sees' in hne 179. 

181. Explain the word 'costly/ as applied to 'lord.' 

182. In many parts of Europe, especially in France, the 
use of meat was almost unknown among the poorer classes, 
in Goldsmith's day. It was estimated that the consumption 
of meat among French peasants in 1760 did not amount to 
more than a pound a month for each person. 

187. Finny deep: Explain this expression. In The Citizen 
of the World Goldsmith speaks of fish as "finny prey." 

190. Savage: Wild beast. In what sense do we use 'sav- 
age' as a noun? 

191. Sped: Performed. As in the expression, 'God speed 
you,' the word here conveys the idea of prosperity, not haste. 

197-198. It was thus that Goldsmith, during his wander- 
ings in Europe, often paid for his lodgings. 
198. Nightly: For the night. 

216. Supplies: Satisfies. 

217. See note on line 124. 

221. Level: Unvaried; monotonous. 

224. Of: This word connects 'once a year' with 'festival,' 
which it modifies. 

228. Morals: Manners, — the Latin mores. 

234. Cowering: Brooding, not crouching as with fear. 

243-254. Goldsmith here speaks of his wandering days, 
more fully described, in the person of George Primrose, in the 
twentieth chapter of The Vicar of Wakefield. The poet's 
friends inform us that he could not read music, but played 
the flute fairly well by ear. 

244. Loire: Where is this river? 



124 NOTES 

253. Gestic: Gesticulating. Dancing is sometimes termed 
the 'gestic art.' 

265-266. Obsen'e how much thought is packed here in a 
few words. 

273. Tawdry: Gaudy; sho-\\y. Tawdry was originally ap- 
plied to any toy or finery bought at a fair held on St. Awdry's 
day, and because these were usually gaudy trinkets, the word 
came to have its present meaning. 

276. Frieze: A coarse woolen cloth. 

277. Cheer: Food. Is this a common meaning of the 
word? 

286. Rampire: Rampart, — that is, dike. 

290. As you doubtless know, much of the territory'- of 
Holland has been rescued by dikes and canals from the ocean. 
Works are now on hand which will enlarge the country an 
eighth. Goldsmith, in his Animated Nature, says: "The 
whole kingdom of Holland seems to be a conquest on the sea, 
and in a manner rescued from its bosom. The surface of the 
earth in this country is below the level of the bed of the sea; 
and I remember upon approaching the coast to have looked 
down upon it from the sea as into a valley." 

303. Are: The subject is 'good'; why is the verb plural in 
form? 

305-312. Is Goldsmith just to the Dutch in this descrip- 
tion of their character? 

309. Goldsmith uses the same words in The Citizen of the 
World: "A nation once famous for setting the world an 
example of freedom is now become a land of tyrants and a 
den of slaves." 

311. Bent: That is, to the yoke of bondage. 

313. Goldsmith confuses the Dutch and the Belgians. 

317. Genius: Poetic muse. 

318-323. Goldsmith says of Britain in The Citizen of the 
World: "Yet from the vernal softness of the air, the verdure 
of the fields, the transparency of the streams and the beauty 
of the women; here love might sport among painted lawns 



NOTES 125 

and warbling groves, and carol upon gales wafting at once 
both fragrance and harmony," Such were the beauties 
which appealed to Goldsmith and the other classic poets 
who preceded Wordsworth and the romantic poets. 

319. Arcadia in Greece was the favorite scene of pastoral 
romances. Sir Philip Sidney and other poets and romancers 
described it as an ideal land of beauty and happiness. 

320. Hydaspes: The modern Jelum, a river of India. 

332. Imagined right: That which he imagines is his right. 

333. Boasts that he scans these rights, — that is, that he 
considers them and has a voice in the government. 

345. Ferments: Political disturbances. 

Imprisoned: That is, by the bounds of law. 

357. Stems: Families. 

358. Wrote: In Goldsmith's time, this W^s the common 
participal form of the verb 'write.' What do we use now? 

362. In the poet's words when the Duke of Northumber- 
land would have patronized him, we have a proof of his manly 
independence. See page eighteen of the Introduction. 

363-380. In place of these lines, there was in the first 
edition only these two hues: 

"Perish the wish, for inly satisfied, 
Above their pomps, I hold my ragged pride." 

Forster thought that Goldsmith omitted the "ragged pride," 
'because it involved an undignified admission,' but we prefer 
to believe him animated by desire to improve the poem. 

382. Goldsmith says in the preface to his History of Eng- 
land: " It is not yet decided in politics whether the diminution 
of kingly power in England tends to increase the happiness 
or the freedom of the people. For my own part, from seeing 
the bad effects of the tyranny of the great in those republican 
states that pretend to be free, I cannot help wishing that our 
monarchs may still be allowed to enjoy the power of control- 
ling the encroachments of the great at home." 

386. Goldsmith expresses the same thought in the nine- 



126 NOTES 

teenth chapter of The Vicar of Wakefield: "What they may 
then expect, may l)e seen by turning our eyes to Holland, 
Genoa, or Venice, where the laws govern the poor and the 
rich govern the law." 

396. Gave wealth: That is, gave to wealth. 'Wealth' is 
the indirect object of the verl^; what is the direct object? 

397-412. This is the main didactic theine of The Deserted 
Village. 

410-422. See The Deserted Village, lines 341-362. 

411. Where is the Oswego River? 

412. The accent of 'Niagara' was formerly on the next to 
the last syllable, as here. 

416. When his poem was written, the horrors of the 
French and Indian wars were still fresh in the minds of 
EngHshmen. 

420. Dr. Johnson wrote this line. A critic, Leslie Stephen, 
says: "When Johnson prunes or interpolates lines in The 
Traveler, we feel as though a woodsman 's ax was hacking at 
a most delicate piece of carving." 

427. "Every mind," says Goldsmith in The Citizen of the 
World, "seems capable of entertaining a certain quantity of 
happiness, which no constitutions can increase, no circum- 
stances alter, and entirely independent of fortune." 

429-434. These lines were written by Dr. Johnson. 

436. Luke's iron crown: Two brothers, George and Luke 
Dosa, led a revolt of Hungarian peasants in 1514; George, 
not Luke, was tortured by having a red-hot iron crown put 
upon his head, as punishment for allowing the peasants to 
proclaim him king of Hungary. 

Damiens' bed of steel: Rol)ert Frangois Damiens, 
who endeavored, in 1757, to assassinate King Louis XV. of 
France, was put in an iron chair and tortured, then put to 
death. 

437-438. These lines were written l)y Dr, Johnson. 



NOTES 127 



NOTES ON THE DESERTED VILLAGE 

The Deserted Village was published May 26, 1.770. Like 
The Traveler, it had been long in the thoughts of its author, 
and had been rewritten, revised, and polished with the care 
which his poems always received. Unlike The Traveler, it 
won immediate popularity, five editions being called for 
within three months. It excited Goethe's youthful enthusi- 
asm, and won from the poet CJray, grown old and hypercritical, 
the exclamation, " This man is a poet! " An account of its com- 
position will be found on page twenty-two of the Introduction. 

The meter of The Deserted Village is the heroic couplet of 
which Goldsmith had made such masterly use in The Traveler; 
in The Deserted Village it received new ease, grace, and charm. 

The didactic theme of the poem had already been touched 
upon in The Traveler: it is the evils of luxury and the miseries 
of the poor in a rich commercial country. /^Goldsmith con- 
founds connnerce and wealth with luxury, condenming all 
three as evils; he states as a fact — what statistics disprove — 
that England was becoming depopulated; and he sees only 
misery ahead of the emigrants leaving the Old World for the 
New. The truth or falsehood of these statements does not 
affect our pleasure in the poems and its beautiful descriptions 
of the little village in its prosperity and its decayX In "Sweet 
Auburn," Goldsmith described, softened and beautified by 
the light of memory, his childhood's home, the Irish village 
of Lissoy. Macaulay, an English author, remarks: "The 
village in its happy days is a true English village. The village 
in its decay is an Irish village. The felicity and the misery 
which Goldsmith has brought close together belong to two 
different countries and to two different stages in the progress 
of society. He had assuredly never seen in his native island 
such a rural paradise, such a seat of plenty, content, and 
tranquillity, as his Auburn. (He had assuredly never seen in 
England all the inhabitants of such a paradise turned out of 
their homes in one day and forced to emigrate in a body to 



128 NOTES 

America. The hamlet he had probably seen in Kent; the 
ejectment he had probably seen in Munster; but by joining 
the two he has produced something which never was and 
never will be seen in any part of the world." 

The poet, however, was not endeavoring to give a guide- 
book description of any one village, English or Irish, He 
sought poetic truth and dramatic contrast and attained them 
with unerring instinct; in our hearts, "sweet Aubuni" has a 
reality vouchsafed to few villages duly indicated on the map. 

The Traveler was dedicated to Goldsmith's brother Henry 
and The Deserted Village to his friend, Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
These dedications are proofs — if proofs be needed — of the 
manly independence of the poet. It was usual in that day 
for authors to dedicate their works to some noble or powerful 
patron, whose favor they wished to court; but Goldsmith 
inscribed his poems, as tokens of affection, to his brother and 
his friend. 

1. Auburn: Goldsmith's native village, Lissoy in Ireland, 
is supposed to be the original of the village of Auburn. The 
name Auburn was suggested by his friend, Bennet Langton. 

2. Swain: See note on The Traveler, line 48. 

3. Smiling spring: AVhat figure of speech is here used? 

4. Parting: Departing; compare the first line of Gray's 
Ekgy: 

" The curfew tolls the knell of parting day." 

5-15. "Ten lines, from the fifth to the fifteenth, had been 
his second morning's work; and when Cooke entered his 
chamber he read them to him aloud. 'Come,' he added, 'let 
me tell you this is no bad morning's work; and now, my dear 
boy, if you are not better engaged, I should be glad to enjoy 
Shoemaker's Holiday with you.' " — Forster. 

6. Seats: Abodes, — as in the expression, 'country seat.' 

9. Express the meaning of this line in your own words. 

10. Cot: Cottage. 



NOTES 129 

12. Decent: Adapted to the purpose for which it was made; 
becoming. This is the meaning of the Latin word from 
which 'decent' is derived, and is the sense in which it was 
commonly used during the eighteenth century. 

15. The coming day: Some hoKday, when the village 
green was the scene of rustic merry-making. 

17. Train: Long-drawn-out line of villagers. Notice how 
frequently Goldsmith uses the word in this poem. 

19. Circled: The word here has the force of 'went round,' 
three lines below\ 

20. Contending: Striving for superiority in the games 
going on. 

22. Sleight: Cunning trick. We use the word now chiefly 
in the expression, 'sleight of hand.' 

Feat: Act showing skill, strength, or courage. The 
word means literally 'something done.' 

23. Tired: That is, tired those who joined in it. 
25. Simply: In a simple manner. 

27. Mistrustless : Unconscious of. Explain the meaning 
of this and the following line. 

34. Lawn: Plain; the word formerly denoted an open 
space in a woodland, but now generally denotes the grassy 
space in front of a house. 

37. Tjn-ant: Here used to describe a wealthy land-owner 
who turned people off his estate. It is thought that Gold- 
smith referred to General Robert Napier, who expelled 
several families from his estate near Lissoy. 

39. Only: Observe the force of this adjective. 

40. Only half the land is tilled or cultivated, and thus the 
plain is deprived of its former beauty and luxuriance. 

43. Glades: Open spaces in woods; literally, places through 
which light glitters. 

44. Bittern: A wading bird of the heron species. Gold- 
smith says in his Animated Nature, "Of all these sounds there 
is none so dismally hollow as the booming of the bittern." 

45. Lapwing: Plover or pewit. 



130 NOTES 

50. Is the scene described in lines 35-50 more or less impres- 
sive because it follows the description of the village in its days 
of happiness and prosperity? Give reasons for your opinion. 

51. Fares the land: Goes it with the land. 

52. Decay: Decrease in numbers or pass away. 

51-52. Goldsmith expresses the same thought in the nine- 
teenth chapter of The Vicar of Wakefield. 

54. A breath: That is, a mere word. 

The Scotch poet, Robert Burns, later expressed this same 
thought in the words: 

"Princes and lords are but the breath of kings." 

55. Peasantry: Country population as opposed to town. 

>; 57. Goldsmith represents Auburn as an English village; 
he describes conditions which he thought were common to 
England and Ireland. 

58. Rood: Is this word used in its literal sense of one 
fourth of an acre? What is its meaning here? 

63. Goldsmith makes the mistake of confusing trade Avith 
luxury, and wealth with oppression. We love and admire 
this poem, but we realize that some of its opinions and 
theories are wrong. 

64. Usurp: The verb agrees with the plural idea instead 
of the singular form of its subject, 'train.' 

69. What is the subject of 'bade'? 

74. Manners: Customs. 

79. Many a year elapsed: After the lapse of many years. 
Return: Goldsmith never did return to the Irish home 
which he left in 1752. His letters express this same pathetic 
desire to go back to his childhood's home, to sit again by 
"Lissoy fireside," and "be placed on the Little Mount before 
Lissoy gate, and there take in, to me, the most pleasing 
horizon in nature." 

81. Train: That is, of thoughts and memories. 

87. Husband out: Use with economy. 

87-88. Express this thought in your own words. 



NOTES 131 

89-96. "A city like this is the soil for great virtues and 
great vices. . . . There are no pleasures, sensual or senti- 
mental, which this city does not produce; yet I know not how 
I could be content to reside here for life. There is something 
so seducing in that spot in which we first had existence, that 
nothing but it can please. Whatever vicissitudes we ex- 
perience in life, however we toil, or wherever we wander, our 
fatigued wishes still recur to home for tranquillity; we long to 
die in that spot which gave us birth, and in that pleasing 
expectation find an opiate for every calamity." — Goldsmith 
in The Citizen of the World. 

93. An: See note on The Traveler, line 34. 

Whom: Can you give any reason for the poet's use of 
'whom' instead of 'which'? 

98. To what does 'that' refer? 

101-102. Goldsmith expressed a similar thought in a prose 
essay: "By struggling with misfortune we are sure to receive 
some wound in the conflict: the only method to come off 
victorious is by running away." 

106. Imploring famme: One suffering from famine who 
implores aid; a beggar. 

107. Latter end: See Job viii, 7. 

110. Sir Joshua Reynolds painted a picture of Resignation 
and had an engraving made from it upon which were inscribed 
some hues from The Deserted Village, and these words: "This 
attempt to express a character in The Deserted Village is 
dedicated to Dr. Goldsmith by his sincere friend and admirer, 
Joshua Reynolds." 

113. Evening: Afternoon, the sense in which it is com- 
monly used in the southern states. 

117. Responsive: Answering back by singing. 

118. To meet: That is, at meeting, — like the Latin 
gerund. 

122. Spoke: Bespoke; indicated. 

Vacant: Empty or free of thought or care, not neces- 
sarily of intelligence. 



132 NOTES 

124. Nightingale: This bird is not found in Ireland. 
126. Fluctuate: Rise and fall. 

Gale: Here, a breeze; a gentle, not a strong wind. 

129. This is a character from real life. The cabin of 
Catherine Geraghty was long pointed out near Lissoy, and 
the brook close by, mantled with cresses. 

130. Plashy: Puddle-like. 

131. Bread: In what sense is this word here used? 

132. Cresses: Water-cress. Why are 'cresses' called 
'manthng'? 

133. Wintry: For use during the winter. 

137-192. These lines were written soon after the poet re- 
ceived the news of the death of his brother Henry, at Ath- 
lone, Ireland, in May, 1768. 

139. Disclose: Show, mark. 

1 140-192. Village preacher: In this description Goldsmith 

'is thought to have had in mind his father and his brother 

Henry, and possible also his uncle Contarine, all of whom 

were clergymen in Irish villages. Commit to memory part 

or all of this description. 

Mansion: We restrict this word to a dwelling of large 
size, but in Goldsmith's time it was applied to any house, 
meaning only a place of abode. 

141. Country: Neighborhood. 

142. Passing: Surpassingly; exceedingly. 

Forty pounds: About the middle of the eighteenth cen- 
tury, forty pounds, about two hundred dollars, was the sum of 
many a country parson's income; the purchasing value of 
money was then greater than now. 

144. Place: Position in Hfe. 

155. Broken: Broken down, by hardships or age. 

157. What is the meaning of 'done' here? 

159. Express this thought in your own words. 

162. He gave from pity, or sympathy, before he considered 
the duty, or charity, of doing so. 

173. Champion: Literally, one who fights in single com- 



NOTES 133 

bat; here, the clergyman is represented as contending against 
sin, or the power of evil. 

176. Accents: Words, — a common poetical use of the 
word. 

179. Double sway: Double power, because he taught by 
both precept and example. 

184. His gown: Clergymen then habitually went to 
church in the black gowns which they wore while preaching. 

189-192. A sublime simile, describing the village preacher's 
position in his little world. 

193-218. The village schoolmaster is thought to be a 
picture of Goldsmith's teacher, Thomas, or 'Paddy,' Byrne. 
This is another passage that you should commit to memory. 

194. Furze: A thorny evergreen shrub, that bears bright 
yellow blossoms. Why does Goldsmith call it "unprofitably 
gay"? 

199. Boding: Foreboding; foreseeing evil. 

207.. Village :What does the word mean here? 

209. Terms: Periods in which law-courts and colleges are 
in session; also, the times when rents are settled. 

Tides: This usually means the times of high and low 
water; here, it probably means times or seasons, the old 
meaning of the word w^hich still survives in the words 
Whitsuntide, Eastertide, noontide, etc. 

Presage: Foretell. 

210. Gauge: Measure the capacities of vessels, such as 
barrels and hogsheads. 

221. Nut-brown draughts: Drinks of brown ale; the "nut 
brown ale" of the poets. 

222. Graybeard mirth and smiling toil: Mirthful old men 
and smiling workmen. 

227. Nicely-sanded: It was then a common custom to 
sprinkle floors with sand, often marked in patterns. 

232. Twelve good rules: These rules, ascribed to Charles I., 
were hung up in most inns in Goldsmith's time. They were: 
"l.Urge no healths. 2. Profane no divine ordinances. 



134 NOTES 

3. Touch no state matters. 4. Reveal no secrets. 5. Pick no 
quarrels. 6. Make no companions. 7. Maintain no ill 
opinions. 8. Keep no bad company. 9. Encourage no vice. 
10. Make no long meals. 11. Repeat no grievances. 12. Lay 
no wagers." 

232. Game of goose: A game somewhat like checkers, 
played on a board on certain squafes of which a goose was 
depicted. 

234. Gay: This adjective describes 'hearth.' 

236. Chimney: Fireplace. 

243. Farmer's news: News gathered on his visits to mar- 
kets. 

Barber's tale: Barbers are proverbially talkative. 

244. Woodman's ballad: Narrative poem or popular song, 
probably about Robin Hood. In Goldsmith's time 'wood- 
man' meant usually 'huntsman.' 

248. Mantling bliss: Foaming ale. 

250. Kiss the cup: Touch it with her lips. 

259. Pomp: Here used in its original sense of train, pro- 
cession. 

265-285. In these hues Goldsmith expresses his opinion 
that trade is a disadvantage to the poor. He says that the 
wealthy enlarge their estates by gaining possession of the 
small farms, on which hved the poorer classes. These country- 
people , deprived of homes and means of support, were forced 
to emigrate. Do you agree with Goldsmith in thinking that 
trade, bringing prosperity and wealth, is a disadvantage to a 
country? Give reasons for your opinion. 

267-268. Goldsmith says in The Citizen of the World: 
"There is a wide difference between a conquering and a 
flourishing empire." 

276. That many poor supplied: That supplied many poor 
people with homes and means of support. 

284. For: That is, to be exchanged for. Goldsmith 
assumes that products needed at home are exported to pro- 
cure luxuries that are superfluous. 



NOTES 135 

287. Female: This use of the word where we would say 
'woman ' was common in Goldsmith's day. 

Plain: That is, in dress. 

288. Secure to please: Confident of pleasing. 

293. Solicitous to bless: Anxious to charm, 

294. Express this thought in your own words. 

295. See note on line 51. 
300. Band: Family. 

302. A garden and a grave: A pleasure-garden for the rich, 
but for the poor a 'grave,' in which is buried their former 
happiness. 

304. Scape: Escape, — not a contraction, but a word used 
in prose and verse. 

305-308. The enclosure of the Commons, or public lands, 
was regarded as a grievance by the poor, though it was often 
useful and sometimes necessary. 

308. Bare-worn: Worn bare of grass. 

316. Artist: Artisan; workman. In Goldsmith's time, 
'artist' was often used to designate one who practiced the 
useful or mechanic arts, while 'artisan' was used to denote 
one who practiced the fine arts, such as painting and sculpture. 

318. Gibbet: In the eighteenth century, the gallows was 
erected on the highway and evil-doers were executed pubhcly, 
to serve as a warning. Do you think this was a wise custom? 

319. Dome: See note on The Traveler, hne 159. 

322. Torches: Before street lights were introduced into 
London, well-to-do people going abroad at night were accom- 
panied by men or boys bearing torches. These were usually 
made of twisted tow, dipped in pitch. 

323. Sure: Surely. 

329. Might adorn: That is, might have adorned. 

335. Idly: Here used in its old sense of foolishly. 
Ambitious of the town: Longing for a city life. 

336. Wheel: Spinning-wheel. In Goldsmith's time, spin- 
ning was one of the regular household duties of women. 

341-358. Goldsmith's fancy painted a gloomy picture of 



136 NOTES 

the regions in the New World, to which the peasants emi- 
grated. Most Englishmen of the eighteenth century had 
vague or incorrect ideas about America. Goldsmith describes 
the tropical regions depicted by early travelers, as if they were 
the ones in which Englishmen usually settled. Is this in 
accordance with facts? 
N^^ 344. Altama: The Altamaha River, in Georgia. You have 
read in the history of the United States about the colony 
which General Oglethorpe established in Georgia for poor 
debtors. General Oglethorpe was one of Goldsmith's friends, 
and no doubt spoke to him of the colony, but probably not 
in the gloomy terms used here by the poet. 

349. Matted: All the earlier travelers in America spoke of 
the impenetrable growth of tangled underwood which they 
found in the forests. 

350. Silent bats: In tropical regions, bats cluster together 
and suspend themselves by their hind legs to the branches of 
trees. Thus they remain during the day, asleep in masses. 

352. Gathers death: Collects deadly venom. 

354. The rattle-snake is the most dreaded of all American 
snakes. 

355. The tiger, and even the jaguar which is sometimes 
called 'the American tiger,' are unknown on the banks of the 
Altamaha. 

356. Savage men: Indians. 

360. Grassy- vested : Clothed with grass. 

361. Warbling grove: The grove in which birds are war- 
bling. 

362. Thefts: Such as the stealing of a kiss. 

363-384. Goldsmith sees only the grief of the peasants at 
leaving their native land. It does not occur to him that they 
may make homes and find happiness in another land. 

368. Western Main: What ocean is meant? 
Seats: See note on line 6. 

379. Plaints: Complaints. 

386. Things like these: What things are meant? 



NOTES 137 

387. Potions: Drafts; drinks. 

393. Sapped: Undermined. 

399. Anchoring: Lying at anchor. 

402. Goldsmith makes a distinction, not usual nor, indeed, 
necessary, between ' shore ' and ' strand ' ; he limits ' strand ' to 
the strip of beach lying between the ocean and the main 
'shore.' 

411. N3miph: Here applied to poetry. In Greek my- 
thology, nymphs were inferior divinities. 

412. Solitary: That is, when alone. 

415. Noble arts: The fine arts, such as music, painting, 
and sculpture. 

418. Torno's cliffs: Probably the cliffs around LakeTornea, 
in the northern part of Sweden. 

Pambamarca : A height of the Andes Mountains, near 
Quito. 

422. Make up for the rigors of an inclement climate. 

424. Of: For. 

428. Mole: A mound or breakwater at the mouth of a 
harbor. 

427-430. Boswell tells us that the last four lines of this 
poem were added by Dr. Samuel Johnson, who thought that 
it ended too tamely as completed by Goldsmith. 

NOTES ON THE HERMIT 

The old English ballad poetry was neglected while the 
formal verse of Dryden and Pope was in favor. It had, how- 
ever, always some friends and admirers, one of whom was 
Goldsmith's friend, Bishop Percy. He collected the old 
ballads and published them under the title of Reliques of 
Ancient English Poetry, and he was so saturated with that 
kind of literature that he wrote several poems in the style of 
the old ballads. Goldsmith, too, liked the old poems, and 
about 1764 he tried his hand at a ballad, which he liked 
better than any other poem he wrote. "As to my ' Hermit,' " 



138 NOTES 

he said, "that poem cannot l^e amended." It was shown to 
the Countess of Northumberland, for whom it was probably 
written, and was privately printed for her in the year 1765. 
It was entitled: Edwin and Angelina, a Ballad by Mr. Gold- 
smith: Printed for the Amusement of the Countess of North- 
umberland. This poem was first brought before the public 
in 1766, under the title of The Hermit, in the thirteenth chap- 
ter of The Vicar of Wakefield. Goldsmith was accused of 
having taken the poem from Bishop Percy's Friar of Orders 
Gray, published jn 1765. In a letter in St. James Chronicle, 
Goldsmith disproved this charge. He said: "Another cor- 
respondent of yours accuses me of having taken a ballad I 
published some time ago from one by the ingenious Mr. Percy. 
I do not think there is any great resemblance between the two 
pieces in question. If there be any, his ballad is taken from 
mine. I read it to Mr. Percy some years ago; and he (as we 
both considered these things as trifles at best) told me with 
his usual good humor, the next time I saw him, that he had 
taken my plan to form the fragments of Shakespeare into a 
ballad of his owti. He then read me his little Cento, if I may 
so call it, and I highly approved it. Such petty anecdotes as 
these are scarce worth printing: and, were it not for the busy 
disposition of some of your correspondents, the public should 
never have known that he owes me the hint of his ballad, or 
that I am obliged to his friendship and learning for communi- 
cations of a much more important nature." 

11. Faithless phantom: A willow-o'-the-wisp. 

19. Rushy: Of rushes. 

27. Scrip: An old word, meaning a small bag. 

31-32. The line referred to here is found in Young's Night 
Thoughts : 

"Man wants but little nor that little long." 

In The Citizen of the World, Goldsmith quotes the line cor- 
rectly. Does the meter of The Hermit suggest to you any 
reason why Goldsmith may have altered the line intentionally? 



NOTES 139 

51. Legendary lore : Knowledge of old times. , 

57-60. In the first edition this stanza read: ! 

"But nothing mirthful could assuage 

The pensive stranger's woe; '. 

For grief had seized his early age, | 

And tears would often flow." j 

How did the poet's changes improve the lines? j 

80. Turtle: Turtle-dove. 1 

84. In the first edition, this line was: 

"The bashful guest betrayed." 

87. This line originally was: 

"Like clouds that deck the morning skies." 

Why is 'colors' a better word here than 'clouds'? 
97-104. In the first edition these hues were: 

"Forgive, and let thy pious care 
A heart's distress allay; 
That seeks repose, but finds despair 
Companion of the way. 

"My father liv'd, of high degree, 
Remote beside the Tyne; 
And as he had but only me, 
Whate'er he had was mine. 

"To win me from his tender arms, 
Unnumber'd suitors came; 
Their chief pretence my flatter'd charms, 
My wealth perhaps their aim." 

101. Tyne: The river Tyne flows through Northumber- 
land. The poem had thus for the Countess of Northumber- 
land an additional interest from having its scene laid there. 

117-120. This stanza was not written till some years after 



140 NOTES 

the remainder of the poem, and was presented, in manuscript, 
to a Richard Archdal, Esq. It was first printed in the poem 
in Bishop Percy's edition in 1801. 

125-128. ''The gentle but exquisite l^eauty of these stanzas 
is truly Goldsmithian." 

133 et seq. In the first edition these lines were: 
"Till quite dejected with my scorn. 
He left me to deplore; 
And sought a solitude forlorn, 
And ne'er was heard of more. 

"Then since he perish 'd by my fault 
This pilgrimage I pay; 
I'll seek the solitude he sought. 
And stretch me where he lay. 

"And there in shelt'ring thickets hid, 
I'll linger till I die; 
'Twas thus for me my lover did, 
And so for him will I." 

"Thou shalt not thus," the Hermit cried. 
And clasp 'd her to his breast; 
The astonish 'd fair one turned to chide, — 
'Twas Edwin's self that prest, 

For now no longer could he hide, 

What first to hide he strove; 
His looks resume their youthful pride, 
And flush with honest love. 
160. In the first edition, there followed two stanzas which 
Goldsmith omitted because they were not needed by the action 
of the poem. These stanzas are: 

"Here amidst sylvan bowers we'll rove. 
From lawn to woodland stray; 
Blest as the songsters of the grove, 
And innocent as they. 



NOTES 141 

"To all that want, and all that wail, 

Our pity shall be given; 
And when this life of love shall fail, 
We'll love again in heaven." 

NOTES ON DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR'S 
BEDCHAMBER 

These lines are slightly altered from a poetical passage sent 
in a letter to his brother Henry in 1759. Compare them with 
lines 227-236 of The Deserted Village. Most of the difficult 
expressions have already been explained in the notes on that 
passage. 

14. WiUiam, Duke of Cumberland, was the hero of the 
Battle of Culloden, fought in 1746. He defeated the High- 
land troops, destroying the Stuarts' last hope of regaining 
the English crown. 

NOTES O^ AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A 
MAD DOG 

This ballad was first printed in 1766, in the seventeenth 
chapter of The Vicar of Wakefield, but it was probably written 
some years before. In The Citizen of the World, Goldsmith 
*' ridicules the fear of mad dogs as one of the epidemic terrors 
to which the people of England are occasionally prone." 

5. Islington: A district of London, where Goldsmith Hved 
from 1762 to 1764. It was then, as he described it in The 
Citizen of the World, "a pretty, neat town, mostly built of 
brick, with a church and bells; it has a small lake, or rather 
pond, in the midst." 

NOTES ON ^ A^ ELEG Y ON THA T GLOR Y OF HER 
SEX, MRS. MARY BLAIZE 

These amusing verses were first printed in 1759, in The Bee, 
a periodical by Goldsmith. The idea of this, as of several 



142 NOTES 

other of Goldsmith's minor poems, is taken from the French, 
but the poet improves upon the original. 

26. Kent Street: When Goldsmith first went to London 
in 1756, he practiced medicine at Southwark; "Kent Street, 
then sacred to beggars and broom men, traverses Southwark." 

NOTES ON WHEN LOVELY WOMAN STOOPS TO 
FOLLY 

This song was first printed in 1766, in the twenty-fourth 
chapter of The Vicar of Wakefield. It is sung by Olivia Prim- 
rose, who has been deserted by her lover. "The charm of 
the words and the graceful way in which they are introduced 
seem to have blinded criticism to the impropriety and even 
inhumanity of requiring poor Ohvia to sing a song so com- 
pletely applicable to her own case," says Dobson. To most 
people, however, the incident seems pleasing and not in- 
appropriate in Goldsmith's graceful world of fancy. 

NOTES ON THE WRETCH CONDEMNED WITH 
LIFE TO PART, AND MEMORY, THO U FOND 
DECEIVER 

These two songs were first pul)lished in 1776, two years 
after Goldsmith's death. They are songs in The Captivity: 
An Oratorio. It was written in 1764, and set to music, but 
not performed; it was not pubhshed until 1820. Of The 
Wretch Condemned with Life to Part, Irving says: "Most of 
The Oratorio has passed into oblivion; but the following song 
from it will never die." 

NOTES ON STANZAS ON THE TAKING OF 
Q UEBEC 

This poem was first printed in 1759, in The Busy Body. It 
is written, not in the heroic couplets which Goldsmith gen- 



NOTES 143 

erally used, but in 'heroic quatrains/ the stanza which Gray- 
used in his Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard. 

Give an account of the historical event which suggested 
this poem to the patriotic Goldsmith. 

NOTES ON THE HAUNCH OF VENISON 

Part of the spring and summer of 1771, Goldsmith passed 
in Essex and at Bath with his friend and countryman, Lord 
Clare. Soon after this visit. Lord Clare sent the poet a gift 
of venison and received in return these charming humorous 
verses. Forster says: "If Lord Clare had sent an entire buck 
every season to his friend's humble chambers in the Temple, 
the single 'Haunch of Venison' which Goldsmith sent back 
would richly have repaid him. The charming verses which 
bear that name were written this year (1771), and appear to 
have been written for Lord Clare alone; nor was it until two 
years after their writer's death that they obtained a wider 
audience than his immediate circle of friends. Yet written 
with no higher aim than of private pleasantry, a more de- 
lightful piece of humor, or a more finished bit of style, has 
probably been seldom written. There is not a word to spare, 
every word is in its right place, the most boisterous animal 
spirits are controlled by the most charming good taste, and 
an indescribable airy elegance pervades and encircles all. 
Its very incidents seem of right to claim a place here, so 
naturally do they fall within the drama of Goldsmith's hfe." 

We are informed that 'the leading idea of The Haunch of 
Venison is taken from a poem by Boileau, a French poet, and 
some passages which seem most original are copied from the 
French satire.' 

8. Virtu: An object of art. 

9-12. This is said to be a custom in Ireland, — and in 
other countries, according to Goldsmith. In Animated 
Nature, he says: — "There is scarcely a cottage in Germany, 
Poland, and Switzerland, that is not hung round with these 
marks of hospitality; and which often makes the owner better 



144 NOTES 

contented with hunger, since he has it in his power to be 
luxurious, when he thinks proper. A piece of l)eef hung up 
there, is considered as an elegant piece of furniture, which, 
though seldom touched, at least argues the possessor's opu- 
lence and ease." 

18. Mr. Byrne: A nephew of Lord Clare's. 

21. Reynolds: His friend, Sir Joshua Reynolds. 

24. M — r — s: Monroe's; Miss Dorothy Monroe was a 
belle of the day. 

27. Howard's identity is unknown; Coley was prol)ably 
Colman, a dramatist; Hogarth is said to have been a London 
surgeon; Hiff was a Dr. Paul Hiffernan, an author, poor in 
every sense of the word, who often made demands on Gold- 
smith's purse. 

29. Higgins: An Irish friend of Goldsmith's. 

34. In a letter which Goldsmith wrote to his brother, 
Maurice, in 1770, we find the same expression: "Honors to 
one in my situation are something like ruffles to one that 
wants a shirt." This was just after the king had made him 
professor of Ancient History in the Royal Academy, a posi- 
tion to which no salary was attached. 

37-38. In the first published copy, these lines read: 

"A fine-spoken custom-house officer he. 
Who smiled as he gazed on the Venison and me." 

It is suggested that these lines described a real person and 
were changed to conceal his identity. 

49. Johnson: Dr. Samuel Johnson, mentioned so often 
Ijefore in this volume. 

Burke: The distinguished stateman, Goldsmith's 
countrjmian and friend. 

55. Mile-end: A district of London. 

60. This is said to be a quotation from a letter Henry, 
Duke of Cumberland, wrote to Lady Grosvenor. 

72. Thrale: A wealthy London brewer; he and his wife 
were intimate friends of Dr. Johnson's. 



NOTES 145 

78. 'Cinna,' 'Panurge': Dr. Scott, a political writer of 
Goldsmith's day, wrote under these pen-names. Cinna was 
a Roman consul, and Panurge is the rogue in a romance by 
the French author, Rabelais. 

108-109. Priam the king of Troy. These lines were sug- 
gested by a passage in Shakespeare's Henry IV., Part II.: 

"Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, 
So dull, so dead in look, so wo-begone. 
Drew Priam's curtains in the dead of night. 
And would have told him half his Troy was burned; 
But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue." 

114. Philomel: According to Greek legend, Philomela was 
changed to a nightingale. 

117. One of your taste: Lord Clare was himself a wit and 
a poet. 

NOTES ON RETALIATION 
This poem was written in February, 1774, only a few weeks 
before Goldsmith's death. It was left unfinished, and was 
not published until after the poet's death. On page twenty- 
four of the Introduction is given an account of the incident 
which suggested it. 

1. Scarron: A French comic writer of the seventeenth 
century, to whose dinners people brought dishes, as to a 
picnic. 

3. Landlord: The master of the St. James Coffee-house, 
where Goldsmith and his friends here mentioned sometimes 
dined. 

5. Dean: Dr. Barnard, Dean of Derry, a well-known wit 
of the day, who wrote some very good verses in response to 
this poem. 

6. Burke: The famous orator and stateman, Edmund 
Burke. 

7. Will: William Burke, a kinsman of the orator's. 

8. Dick: Richard Burke, a younger brother of Edmund's. 



146 NOTES 

9. Cumberland: Richard Cumberland, an author of the 
day, who \yrote poems, novels, and dramas. 

10. Douglas: Dr. John Douglas, a scholarly Scotchman 
who was afterwards Bishop of Salisbury. 

11. Garrick: David Garrick, the famous actor, whose mock 
epitaph on Goldsmith provoked this poem. 

14! Ridge: Counselor John Ridge, an Irish lawyer. 

Reynolds: Sir Joshua Reynolds, who was probably 
Goldsmith's dearest friend. 

15. Hickey: Thomas Hickey, an Irish lawyer, well known 
for his hospitality and good humor. 

16. Notice Goldsmith's humorous characterization of him- 
self. 

29-42. "We then spoke of Retaliation," says Northcote, 
*' and praised the character of Burke in particular as a master- 
piece. Nothing that he had ever said or done but what was 
foretold in it: nor was he painted as the principal figure in 
the foreground with the partiality of a friend, or as the great 
man of the day, but with a background of history, showing 
both what he was and what he might have been." 

Tommy Townshend: Thomas Townshend, a memter 
of Parliament; he afterward became Lord Sydney. 

38. Nice: Scrupulous. 

41. Mutton cold: Burke often came late to meals, 
owing to the length of his speeches which detained him in 
Parliament. 

43. William: See note on line 7. 

51. Richard: See note on line 8. 

54. Richard Burke had recently broken his leg. 

62. Terence: A Roman comic poet of the second century 
before Christ. His plays lack originality, but are remarkable 
for l)eauty of style. 

67. Dizened: Bedizened is the more common form of this 
word, which means dressed up, bedecked. 

68. Rout: A fashionable name, in the eighteenth century, 
for an evening gathering. 



NOTES 147 

86. Dodds: Rev. Dr. William Dodd was a fashionable 
preacher who was hanged for forgery in 1777. 

Kenrick: Dr. Kenrick was known in his day as a 
lecturer and dramatist, but is now only remembered for his 
scurrilous abuse of Goldsmith. 

87. Macpherson: A Scotch author who wrote the Poems 
of Ossian, and persuaded many people that they were old 
Keltic poems. Goldsmith here refers to his prose translation 
of Homer. 

89. Landers: William Landers was a Scotchman, author 
of a literary forgery, charging Milton with plagiarism; this 
was exposed by Dr. Douglas. 

Bowers: Archibald Bowers, a Scotchman, who wrote a 
History of the Popes, containing errors and plagiarisms which 
were pointed out by Dr. Douglas. 

93-124. ''The portrait of David Garrick is one of the most 
elaborate in the poem. When the poet came to touch it off, 
he had some lurking piques to gratify, which the recent 
attack had revived. He may have forgotten David's cavalier 
treatment of him in the early days of his comparative ob- 
scurity; he may have forgiven his refusal of his plays; but 
Garrick had been capricious in his conduct in the times of 
their recent intercourse: sometimes treating him with gross 
familiarity, at other times affecting dignity and reserve, and 
assuming airs of superiority; frequently he had been facetious 
and witty in company at his expense, and lastly he had been 
guilty of the couplet just quoted. Goldsmith, therefore, 
touched off the lights and shadows of his character with a 
free hand, and, at the same time, gave a side hit at his old 
rival, Kelly, and his critical persecutor, Kenrick, in making 
them sycophantic satellites of the actor. Goldsmith, how- 
ever, was void of gall even in his revenge, and his very satire 
was more humorous than caustic." ^ — Washington Irving. 

115. Kelly: Hugh Kelly, an Irish writer of essays, poems, 
and plays, was Goldsmith's chief rival as a dramatist. His 
False Delicacy was acted about the same time that Gold- 



148 NOTES 

smith's Good-natured Man was played, and Kelly's comedy 
had by far the greater success. It is now almost forgotten. 

Woodfall: William Woodfall, the editor of The Morn- 
ing Chronicle, and a well-known dramatic critic. 

116. Commerce: Exchange of flattery. 

117. Grub-Street: Now Milton Street, London. During 
the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Grub Street was the 
popular abiding place of literary men, but in the eighteenth 
century it was given over to the inferior class of authors. 

118. Be-Rosciused : Praised as being a second Roscius; 
Roscius was the greatest of the Roman actors. 

124. Beaumonts: Francis Beaumont was a famous dram- 
atist of the Elizabethan age. 

Bens: Ben Johnson was a dramatist of the Ehzabethan 
age, second only to Shakespeare. 

131. Flat: Without an opinion of his own. 

140. Bland: "A word eminently happy and characteristic 
of his easy and placid manner." — M alone. 

145. Raphaels: Raphael, the most popular of all the great 
Italian painters of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. 

Correggios: Correggio was another Itahan painter, 
who flourished at the time of Raphael. 

146. Trumpet: Reynolds was so deaf that he had to use 
an ear-trumpet. 

147. We are told that these were the last lines that Gold- 
smith wrote, and death found him with them unfinished. It 
was fitting that his last words should be a portrait of his 
friend. Sir Joshua. It is said that when the news of Gold- 
smith's death was brought him, Reynolds laid down his 
brush and painted no more that day, — a thing that he had 
never before done, even in times of affliction. 

Postscript: This was first printed in the fifth edition 
of the poem. Goldsmith had given the lines to a friend, who 
sent a copy to the publisher in 1774. 

148. Whitefoord: Mr. Caleb Whitefoord, a Scotchman 
who came to London and was for many years a wine merchant. 



NOTES 149 

He was a notorious punster, and wrote much in prose and 
verse. 

149. For this pun, see Romeo and Juliet, 3, 1. 

155. Bon mots: Witticisms 

161. See Hamlet, 5, 1. 

163. See note on hne 115. 

171. These are the names of some of Whitefoord's humor- 
ous writings 



EXAMINATION QUESTIONS 



ON 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE 



Cornelia Beare, Instructor in English, High School, 
White Plains, N. Y. 

Preliminary. 

Consult Irving's Life of Goldsmith for account of early 
home and parents. 

From " Vicar of Wakefield." Study character of the Vicar; 
description of the Primrose family's home in the country; 
injustice done to the poor by the rich, as shown by story 
of Squire Thornhill and Olivia. Story of Goldsmith's life, 
as given in Painter's English Literature. 

Plan of Study for Absolute Possession. 

1. Divide the poem into sections, read in class and then 
write out the paraphrase of each as a chapter with its title 
indicating its theme. 



(1) 11. 1-34 

(2) 11. 35-74 

(3) 11. 75-112 

(4) 11. 113-136 

(5) 11. 137-192 

(6) 11. 193-236 

2. Commit to memory. 

(1) 11. 51-62 

(2) 11. 83-112 

(3) 11. 163-170 

(4) 11. 177-192 



(7) 11. 237-264 

(8) 11. 265-302 

(9) 11. 303-336 

(10) 11. 337-384 

(11) 11. 385-430 



(5) 11. 193-216 

(6) 11. 265-286 

(7) 11. 415-430 



151 



152 EXAMINATION QUESTIONS 

Exercises in Description. 

1. A circumstantial description of Auburn as Goldsmith 
knew it in his boyhood. 

2. A dynamic description emphasizing the simple happiness 
of the village. 

3. An impressionistic description of the parson, from the 
view point of the villagers. Write as one of them. 

4. Describe the inn as the schoolmaster would; try to 
talk as you think he would. (Use dictionary and book of 
synonyms for help.) 

5. Describe the mansion and estate which has replaced 
Auburn. Use a moving point of view, and underscore 
transitions by which you make your change evident. 
Exercises in Narration. 

1. In the person of a village lad, tell of a holiday eve at 
Auburn, 

2. Let the same lad give an account of the doings in 
school. 

3. Let the parson tell of a visit to a sick man of the village. 

4. Let "the sad historian of the pensive plain," tell of the 
departure of the villagers. 

5. Let one of the exiles tell of her struggles in the city 
and of her life in the new world. 

Exercises in Exposition. 

1 . Explain the meaning of 

(a) "Every pang that folly pays to pride." 
(&) "Unpractised he to fawn or seek for power 

By declines fashioned to the varying hour." 

(c) "The country blooms — a garden and a grave." 

(d) "Thou guide by which the noisier arts excel, 

Thou nurse of every virtue." 

2. Explain why Auburn was at first so happy. 

3. Explain by analogy how a nation may be splendid, yet 
ready to fall to pieces. 



1 

EXAMINATION QUESTIONS 153 J 

4. Explain Goldsmith's personal grief in the ruin of 
Auburn. I 

Argument. 

1. Prove that riches are not always a curse to a land. 

2. Prepare a brief for your argument. 

3. Collect Goldsmith's arguments to prove that the rich I 
are responsible for the destruction of the country. 

4. Arrange these in a brief. 

5. Write argument from given brief. 



LIST OF TITLES IN 

90erriir0 (gngli0j) Ce5et0 



The dates following the name of the book indicate 
the years for which they are scheduled for 

Uniform College Entrance Requirements in English 



A double star (**) indicates that an edition of the book is in preparation 

Addison, Steele, and Budgell. The Sir Roger de Coverley 
Papers in "The Spectator." 1909-1915. Price, 30 
cents. 

Browning. Cavalier Tunes, The Lost Leader, How They 
Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix, Evelyn 
Hope, Home Thoughts from Abroad, Home Thoughts 
from the Sea, Incident of the French Camp, The Boy 
and the Angel, One Word More, Herve Riel, Pheidip- 
pides,' My Last Duchess, Up at a Villa — Down in the 
City. 1909-1915. Price, 25 cents. 

Bunyan. Pilgrim's Progress. Parti. 1909-1915. Price,** 

Coleridge. The Ancient Mariner. 1909-1915. Price, 25 
cents. 

Coleridge — The Ancient Mariner, and Lowell— The Vision 
of Sir Launfal, Combined. 1909-1915. Price, 40 cents. 

Defoe. Robinson Crusoe, Part I. 1913-1915. Price,** 



Dickens. A Tale of Two Cities. 1909-1915. Price, 50 
cents. 

Eliot (George). Silas Marner. 1909-1915. Price, 40 cents. 

Emerson. Essays. (Selected.) 1909-1912. Price, 40 cents. 

Goldsmith. The Deserted Village. 1909-1915. Price, 25 

cents. 

Gray — Elegy in a Country Churchyard, and Goldsmith — 
The Deserted Village, Combined. 1913-1915. Price, 
30 cents. 

Hawthorne. The House of the Seven Gables. 1909-1915. 
Price, 40 cents. 

Lamb. Essays of Elia. 1909-1912. Price, 50 cents. 

Lincoln, Selections from. Including the two Inaugurals, 
the Speeches in Independence Hall and at Gettysburg, 
the Last Public Address, and Letter to Horace Greeley, 
along with a brief memoir or estimate. 1913-1915. 
Price, 25 cents. 

Lowell. The Vision of Sir Launfal. 1909-1915. Price, 
25 cents. 

Macaulay. Essays on Lord Clive and Warren Hastings. 

1913-1915. Price, 40 cents. 

Macaulay — Lays of Ancient Rome, and Arnold — Sohrab 
and Rustum, Combined. 1909-1915. Price, 30 cents. 

Milton. Lycidas, Comus, L'Allegro, and II Penseroso. 

1909-1915. Price, 25 cents. 

Poe — The Raven, Longfellow — The Courtship of Miles 
,Standish, and Whittier — Snow-Bound, Combined. 
1913-1915. Price, 30 cents. 

Stevenson. Inland Voyage and Travels with a Donkey. 

1913-1915. Price,** 

Stevenson. Treasure Island. 1913-1915. Price, 40 cents. 
Thoreau. Walden. 1913-1915. Price,** 



V> .^^C^' 



1-' .^y 




-0- 




,^, 








< 




■<■' 


■' ' ■ '' 


~ 




' M- 




^<!-"^ -^t 






■s^'' 


^>,<^'' . 














.^' 


% 








• \ 
















xO°.. 


* \, 








J- 






\ ■, 1 ,, - N. 










;%/■ 




1 ''-'■■ 






.10^^■■'•> 




; .^^ 


-;, 




>-T- - '> ■>- 


















^A v^' 


'oo'* 














^ .: 






=^^^, 






I > * ^ 


> 










, 




'->^%<* .v^'' ''*^ 




/ 






/ ,^ ^ ^ -^ ^- V 











^^^ "" ,#^ 



'f^, .^^ 



>0o 



» <t 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: March 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 

■ A * WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATIJM 

.-J^-^ 111 Thomson Park Drive 

\ Cranberry Township, PA 16066 



% <^ (724)779-2111 






< ^ t S '^ 






^ /^^^^ 



p^ 



A, r. 






O >/' 



'^ki~>5^ 






^"h 






." A 










:/ 



